


Five Lives Never Led (or, everything in Time should be either titillating or epic)

by lovesrogue36



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: 5 Things, Alternate Universe - Bonnie & Clyde, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Car Accidents, Detective Noir, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Infidelity, Mentions of Cancer, Murder, Murder-Suicide, Pulp, References to Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesrogue36/pseuds/lovesrogue36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something epic about the tragedy of dying young. No one understands this quite so well as Logan Echolls and Veronica Mars, or so they tell themselves. Fusion with five classic romances (Jay & Daisy, Mike & Velda, Othello & Desdemona, Bonnie & Clyde, Tristan & Isolde.) Repeated character deaths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Lives Never Led (or, everything in Time should be either titillating or epic)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This is my first foray into the Veronica Mars fandom and I'm very excited - it's such an amazing show and it's great to see the fandom still relatively active all these years later. This is one of the longest fics I've ever written, definitely a testament to how inspiring these characters are. 
> 
> A big thanks to my wonderful beta who put up with a lot of pestering and complaining while I wrote this and who made it fifty times better than it would have been without her help. *hugs* 
> 
> I do have to apologize for the fact that my first fic in the fandom is such a twisted and tragic one and ask that you not ignore the warnings if they might be a problem for you. There are repeated character deaths and graphic violence and sexual content here, fair warning.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Veronica Mars nor am I associated with Rob Thomas, Kristen Bell or Jason Dohring in any way. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Full title quote: “I am all for titillating trivialities. I am all for the epic touch. I could almost say that everything in Time should be either titillating or epic or starkly, supercurtly factual.” - Henry R. Luce

There was a time when epic love, tragic love, meant something spanning years and continents with lives ruined and bloodshed.  

But everyone is epic now, with all their dramas playing out on the tiny stages of their lives. You don’t have to be Jay&Daisy, Mike&Velda, Othello&Desdemona, Bonnie&Clyde, Tristan&Isolde to be epic anymore. An average heartbreak is just as epic as any of the classics now and ends just as tragically, at least that’s how it feels. At least that’s what we tell ourselves so it doesn’t all feel quite so pointless.

Hundreds, thousands, of years and yet the same fates continue to befall the young and beautiful, the black-hearted and broken. Lovers torn apart by tragedy and by their own inability to see the end rushing at them.

Veronica Mars had seen it all dozens of times over: cheating spouses, star-crossed high schoolers and accidental incest. None of it pretty, all of it epic.

Archetypes. Classic novels. Dying young and staying pretty. Murder. Infidelity. Medieval romances. Random accidents. Misunderstandings and misdirects. If English class and late night stakeouts at the Camelot had taught her anything, it was that epic is equal to tragic, period.

She liked to think of herself as more aware of the sordidness of the world than her peers and yet at the end of the day, she was just as blind as anyone to all the ways her own epic love could crash and burn, tawdry heart-wrenching repeats of stories long faded to the constant beating of time.

She was just as blind as anyone to the end.

 

 _01._ _Jay & Daisy_

Summer’s a funny thing. The world looks a little different in summer, like you see everything through a haze of heat and waves and alcohol. This thought occurred to Logan as he peered at Duncan and Veronica on the other end of the beach through a bottle of tequila with the label half peeled off, their shapes blurry and unfocused, nearly a foot between them as they sat there staring out at the ocean.

Lowering the bottle so he could see them more clearly, Logan leaned in the shadow of an empty lifeguard tower, wetsuit clinging to him and his surfboard propped up nearby as he pressed the bottle to his lips. He could only imagine what they had to talk about. Probably what restaurant Duncan wanted to be seen at on Saturday night and what a lovely childhood their kids would have in the White House. Rolling his eyes, he sucked traces of salt water off the back of his hand before taking another swig and slammed the cork back on the bottle.

Duncan and Veronica stood slowly, gathering their things (a picnic basket. An actual, honest-to-god picnic basket. When had she become the girl that picnicked on the beach with her perfect, soon-to-be-politician boyfriend? It was disgusting.) Stepping behind the lifeguard tower so he could watch them through the slats, Logan thought back to the beginning of summer, when it had been his privilege to take her to the beach although she was with him, she wasn’t _picnicking._ He remembered her lips on his neck and her hands under the water where no one could see and he had to grip the bottle tighter to keep from groaning at the sense-memory.

Veronica’s gaze ran across the beach behind them as they walked hand in hand to the parking lot, her eyes hitching for only a moment on the lifeguard tower. If she saw him lurking there, watching them, she didn’t let on, only curled herself into Duncan’s arm and let him lead her to the car.

Something about being back with him, it brought out the princess in her, the little girl she had been before Lilly and Aaron and everything in their world had gone to hell. Maybe she wanted to think that was who she really was, that despite the way she trembled when he kissed her, Logan was better left in her past.

Uncorking the tequila bottle again and tipping it up so the alcohol dripped down his throat, Logan resolved to change her mind. To do that thing where the guy who really loves the girl gets her, just by swooping in and being there.

Summer slowly ticked by with Logan sitting in the Xterra across from the Grand every other night, well aware he wasn’t exactly inconspicuous and that she had to be seeing him every time she left Duncan’s at ten minutes to her curfew and piled into the scrap heap she called a car.

Admittedly, he thought if he stayed in her face enough, had coffee at the Java enough, didn’t let her forget about him, that one of those hot, sultry nights she’d wander over to his window and he’d let her in and, like old times but better, he’d have her right there in the back seat with her body still lukewarm from Duncan. The thought put his blood pressure up every time and he’d have to reach between his legs, relieve some of the tension she created in him without so much as looking in his direction.

But it wasn’t working. July had come and gone and school was starting in just a few short weeks. Veronica was still stubbornly entwined with Duncan, their chaste kisses on the beach rankling him more every day, having to watch the way he barely touched her as though she might shatter, instead of loving her with the passion she deserved.

Logan sat outside the police station for at least an hour on a boring Wednesday afternoon, telling himself it was a stupid idea. Leo D’Amato hardly knew him from Adam and he wasn’t likely to be impressed with what little he did know. Some kind of Veronica-fueled insanity won out over logic and he stepped out of his car into the stifling heat of August, walking into the police station.

Leo was leaning at the counter, scratching a pen at what might have been paperwork or might have been doodling, and looked up with slow surprise spreading across his face. “Logan Echolls walking into the sheriff’s department on his own power? Well I’ll be a-”

Holding up a hand to cut him off, Logan shook his head. “ _Don’t_ say a monkey’s uncle. Just don’t.”

He snapped his jaw shut before grinning slightly. “Here to turn yourself in for the crime of the week? Burn down any pools recently?”

Logan grunted, frowning as he leaned against the counter and slid a hundred dollar bill onto the polished fake wood. “I need a favor and I’m willing to pay for the privilege.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls.” Leo doodled a tiny badge on the edge of his paper. “Why on Earth would I do you a favor?”

“Tell me, how many hours do you have to stand here doodling to make a hundred bucks?”

Leo glared at him. “And what exactly would this favor entail?”

“I need you to call Veronica and tell her Lamb wants to see her ASAP. That’s it. A hundred bucks for a thirty second phone call to a girl you went out with, what? Three times?” Leo was still glaring though so Logan shrugged and reached into his wallet. “Do I need to make it two hundred?”

“Is this a prank? Is she going to hate me forever if I’m involved?”

Logan laughed. “Like you still have a chance with her.” He sobered at the seriousness on Leo’s face and shook his head, slapping down another bill. “No, it’s not a prank. Come on, two hundred dollars.”

Leo clenched his jaw, still leaning on the counter with one elbow as he stared down at the two bills. Finally, he snatched them up, stuffed them in his back pocket and reached for the phone. “I’m only doing this because I want to see her kick your ass after you get through pulling whatever it is you’re pulling.”

“Fair enough.” Logan slouched into a nearby chair, watching as Leo punched the numbers into the phone.

There was a pause while it rang and Logan could see him hoping she didn’t pick up. He pinched the bridge of his nose when she did, clearly already regretting this. “Hey, Veronica,” he said, dragging out her name. “It’s Leo.”

Logan could just barely hear her voice through the phone, hear the way she hesitated, not sure why he could possibly be calling. “Hey… Leo. What’s up?”

“I’m really sorry to bother you but Lamb wants to see you down at the station ASAP.”

She huffed and Logan could almost see the way her arms were probably crossed and her posture probably stiffened at the mention of the sheriff, despite her peppy tone. “Does he now? Well, you know me, Lamb’s biggest fan. He says jump, I say how high!”

Leo laughed stiffly. “Sorry, Veronica. I’ll let him know you’re on your way.” He hung up and resumed glaring at Logan. “Now go bother somebody else, Tom Cruise.”

“I’m gone.” Logan through his hands up, gliding up out of his seat and crossing the room to the door in a few short strides.

Leo stood there, expanding his doodle of the planet Mars to the whole solar system, for nearly two minutes of peace and quiet. And then the car alarms started to go off, at least five of them, blaring in the parking lot. Groaning, Leo raced out of the building only to find Logan standing on top of a police cruiser, having spray-painted I LIKE IKE across the windshields of several cars and kicked out their headlights to set off the alarms.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, obviously flummoxed.

Logan planted his fists on his hips, chest puffed out. “Getting arrested, obviously. Why else did you think I wanted Veronica here?” He hopped down off the cruiser and held his wrists out, laying on a high phony voice. “Cuff me, officer, but, oh, be gentle!”

Leo stared at him in disbelief before reaching behind him for his cuffs. “I Like Ike?”

Logan shrugged. “First thing that came to mind.”

“You are insane. _Certifiable._ ”

“That’s what they tell me. Something about coming from a family of liars and killers and alcoholics traumatizing me so I take it out on the world at large.” Logan held up his cuffed hands, turning to the street. “Hello world!” he shouted, drawing looks from several people across the road.

Rolling his eyes, Leo grabbed his arm and shoved him up the steps. “For gods’ sake, do you want a crapstorm of media? Keep your head down, idiot.”

Logan half-danced up the stairs and into the police station, letting Leo poke and prod him down the hallway to the cells. Drawing open the bars, he tossed him inside a thankfully empty cell.

“What, no company in the drawing room? No one to share tea and crumpets with?” Logan held his wrists out again so Leo could unlock the cuffs before flopping onto the cot in the corner.

“Slow crime day. Just be glad there won’t be witnesses to your annihilation at the hands of a tiny blonde waitress.” Leo arched an eyebrow pointedly before leaving Logan alone in the cell, fingers drumming on his chest.

It took Veronica almost an hour to get there and when she walked in, bracing for a few rounds with Lamb, Leo had to resist the urge to hide under the counter. “Veronica.” He straightened slowly, clicking his pen on and off.

“Going for a new look on the police cruisers?” she asked, tossing her keys in her bag. “I think you’re a few decades late with the slogan.”

Leo rubbed at his forehead with a wince. “Yeah, uh, that’s kind of why you’re here. Look, I had no idea the stunt he was going to pull when I agreed to this and, you know, two hundred bucks is a nice little bonus and-”

“Woah, woah, Leo, slow down. What’s this about?” Veronica rested her arms on the counter. “Where’s Lamb?”

“Yeah, he’s not here. Logan-” She stiffened instantly at the name but didn’t interrupt. “-Logan paid me to call you and say Lamb wanted you. And then he went outside and gave the cruisers that lovely new paint job so I’d have to throw him in jail.”

Veronica’s hands tightened into fists so hard he was afraid she might draw blood. “He’s here? You should have known better, Leo, this kind of shit is his bread and butter.”

“Yeah, well, he’s gone to an awful lot of trouble to see you. Maybe if you talk to him. Just, try.” Leo nodded to the cell block. “He’s in cell 3.”

It was on her face to protest but her shoulders only sagged in defeat and she stalked down the hallway to cell 3. Logan heard her footsteps in the hall and grinned slightly to himself, weaving his fingers together on his chest, the picture of relaxed.

She pushed open the door and he tipped his head back on the cot to meet her eyes upside down. “I see you got my message.”

Veronica stood there in the open door, just looking at him, and for a moment with the light behind her and her hair longer than it had been in a while and that silent fury in her eyes, she looked like his perfect dream. Then she sighed and muttered a, “Why the hell do I let you get away with this crap?” and the moment was broken but she still looked beautiful, closer than he’d seen her since her father kicked him out of their apartment.

She closed the door behind her and moved slowly to stand in front of the cell, one hand curling around a bar. “I Like Ike? Really?”

Logan swung his legs off the cot and stood, stretching so his shirt rode up above his jeans. “It’s a classic.” He watched her eyes drop to the patch of skin he’d exposed before dropping his arms abruptly and coming to stand in front of her, one hand curling around a bar beside hers.

“So what is this?” she asked quietly, eyes glued to their hands on the metal instead of having to look at him directly.

His voice dropped to match hers and he rested his forehead against the bars, watching her face. “I just need you to listen, okay?” She nodded faintly and he swallowed hard, not having entirely believed he’d get this far with his plan. “I’m not stupid, Veronica, I know I don’t deserve you. I’m not half good enough for you. But I get you, I get the pain you can’t talk about with anyone else. Duncan’s safe and normal, yeah, but you shouldn’t have to settle for someone you don’t love, just because they’re normal.”

“Who says I’m settling?”

“Aren’t you? Of course you are. You went _picnicking_ with him.”

“Stalker.”

“I love you, Veronica, do you understand that?”

She tipped her head back, finally meeting his eyes, her own wide with uncertainty. “I know you do,” she murmured, reaching her free hand up to touch his cheek through the bars.

They stood there for long, indeterminable minutes, her fingertips on his skin and the bars between them, the air in the small room growing thick until finally she called for Leo. The deputy poked his head into the room hesitantly, clearing expecting to see Logan torn to shreds. He straightened in surprise when instead he found them standing as close as they possibly could with the bars in the way and moved with only the tiniest twinge of disappointment to let Logan out.

“Just let me make a quick call and I’ll post his bail.” Veronica stepped out into the hall, pulling her phone from her purse.

“So, just like that, huh?” Leo shook his head as he pulled the metal door open. “I like Veronica, you know, but you make her really stupid.”

Logan stepped out, stretching as though he’d been trapped for days. “Ah, delicious freedom. Please, let her hear you sat that. I’d love to see her kick your ass, Deputy Dogood.” He grinned, clapping a hand on Leo’s shoulder as he was marched out into the main office.

Veronica hung up her phone as they approached, Logan practically skipping at the mild glower on Leo’s face while she paid the bail. She was silent next to him as they walked outside, past the taped off police cruisers, her hands wrapped tightly in her purse strap.

They came to a stop at his car, the quiet growing longer between them until finally he reached out a hand, hesitated and drew it back. “Veronica-”

“Don’t.” Her voice was so soft and low he had to step closer into her space to hear her, close enough to feel her warmth. “I miss you.”

“Christ, I miss you too.” His breath ruffled her hair and it was all he could do not to reach out and touch it.

Veronica raised her eyes to his, squinting in the bright sun. “There’s only a few weeks left of summer,” she observed and he knew it wasn’t the non-sequitur it sounded like.

“Come to the house with me,” Logan offered, suggested, demanded. Even he wasn’t entirely sure how it sounded.

She stared him down, that dark, searching gaze she always got when she was trying to figure out whether you were a liar or a cheat or a violent drunk. Luckily, they both already knew he was all three and that ought to save them a lot of heartache and illusions. She nodded slowly, pressing her lips together. “Yeah. Okay.” The words were short, broken up, as though she was still making her mind up as she said them.

Logan opened the passenger door, holding it open without a word, and watched with something akin to fascination, or maybe infatuation, as she climbed inside. He stood there, handle clutched in his hand, coming to the slow realization that his plan had worked and here she was, just like that.

Shaking his head to clear it, he closed the door and walked around to climb into the driver’s seat. They drove in silence, Veronica’s eyes never leaving the boarded up buildings and palm trees swaying out the window. His hands felt clammy on the steering wheel and he kept wiping them on his pants as he watched her out of the corner of his eye.

The Xterra pulled into the Echolls drive and, feeling her stiffen beside him, he reached out for her hand. She hesitated but curled her fingers in his and he was surprised to find her palm just as clammy as his own. “We can- go somewhere else, if you want,” Logan offered haltingly.

“No.” Her response was quick and sharp, accompanied by a determined shake of her head. “I always liked your house. It felt more- lived in, than Lilly’s.” It was a surprisingly honest revelation, though he had to lean in to hear her speak, like she was afraid if she spoke too loud everyone in Neptune would know where she was and with who. “Your mom always made me feel welcome.”

Logan squeezed her hand, the house rising up in front of them like a castle or a fortress. “I guess I hope I inherited that,” he murmured, bringing her hand up to his lips.

“I’m glad you still hope for things.” Veronica turned her head finally to meet his eyes as he brushed a kiss over her fingers.

He shivered under her gaze, turning her hand slowly to press his lips to her wrist. “I hoped for you.”

“And here I am.” She rolled her eyes, pulling her hand away and jumping out of the car. “Sentimental doesn’t suit you, darling.”

Logan chuckled, following her into the house, his arm slipping around her waist. “Whole place to ourselves. Whatever shall we do?”

“Give me the grand tour. I don’t think I’ve ever seen more than the living room and the-” She cut off but they both knew what she had been about to say: the poolhouse.

He nodded shortly, grabbing her hand and dragging her up the stairs. “Well there’s the library, the dining room, the piano room, the bedroom,” he waggled his eyebrows at her and she flushed, tugging on his hand.

“You have a piano room?” she repeated incredulously. “That’s so _cultured_.”

Logan held a hand up to his chest, gasping in mock offense as he led her down one hallway and up the next. “I will have you know, I am terribly cultured, Miss Mars.”

Bursting through a set of double doors that probably hadn’t been opened in years except by the housekeeper, Logan skipped around the room. He grinned at the way she hid a giggle behind her hand and dragged her to sit at the grand piano next to him, the only piece of furniture in a small room surrounded by windows that was probably still larger than her apartment.

Veronica smiled, leaning into him. “You don’t actually play, do you?”

“Not even Chopsticks. But,” Logan snuck a sideways glance at her, running his fingers experimentally over the keys. “Mrs. Navarro used to play a few songs for me sometimes, when I was a kid home alone and she came to clean. I think- I think she plays for her church or something.”

She slipped her arm through his, dropping her head onto his shoulder. “You were such a lonely kid,” she murmured, tracing her fingers over the veins in his wrist. “I used to watch you, even after you were Lilly’s, and you always looked sort of distant, like you had this vision of where you were going to be in ten years, or twenty. You were so much more alone than the rest of us, weren’t you?”

Logan danced across the keys without hitting any of them, nervous energy spilling out into his fingertips. He opened his mouth several times to answer, too afraid of honesty, or maybe just too unused to it, to find the right words. But then her hand was sliding up over his chest and her lips were on his and three fingers slipped unbidden into the keyboard, the discordant notes fading around them as she kissed him, slow and with her lashes fluttering against her cheeks.

“God, I love you,” he whispered when she finally pulled away, his eyes still closed though he could feel her breath on his lips.

"Dance with me." Veronica rubbed her thumb against his neck and he might have agreed to anything if she would just keep touching him like that, like he mattered.

"There's no music."

"Imagine some. What do you hear in your head?" She pulled him to his feet and his arms went around her like they'd never been apart.

Logan pressed his lips to her cheek, squeezing her waist tighter than necessary so he might never have to let go. "When you're here? _Jazz._ Something low and sultry, like sex and a saxophone."

"Again with the culture." But her voice was rough and she leaned into him, lips parting around a soft gasp.

Tipping his head to the side, he caught her lips in his again and felt her walls crumble a little further under his touch. Her fingers curled in his shirt and he cupped her cheek in his hand, swaying to the imaginary Harlem Nocturne playing in his head.

“Maybe you should show me that bedroom now,” Veronica suggested in a low voice that made him shiver and tangle his fingers in her hair. Walking backwards in a sort of graceful stumble down the hall, Logan tried in vain to remember where his bedroom was in that big house, empty but for the ghosts of his father's temper and the hollow clink of ice in his mother's glass.

Logan buried his face in her neck, letting her guide him through the halls, his mouth drifting across her collarbone as he clutched her to him. She had lied about not knowing her way around his house but, then, he had known she was lying so it was all right.

The bedroom door gave way under their tumbling weight and he pulled her onto the bed with him, legs tangling as covers rumpled from one of many sleepless nights curled up around them. Her hair spread out on his pillow and he held himself over her, breathless with the desire just to look at her.

Veronica stroked her fingers over his cheek, looking so _right_ in his bed, her eyes dark and so much sadder than she ought to have any reason to be. "You've been looking for too long, from too far away," she breathed. " _Touch me._ "

He swallowed hard over the knot of indecision (and bad decisions) in his throat and moved slowly to kiss her without closing his eyes, one hand inching beneath her shirt, thin cotton bunching around his wrist. Veronica caved first, eyes drifting shut as he deepened the kiss, tongue sweeping in her mouth like he belonged there. Covering his hand with her own, she dragged his fingers up over her ribcage and moaned, her back arching beneath him as she wrapped her free arm around his neck.

Toeing his shoes off the edge of the bed, he sank down beside her, one hand pressed beneath the edge of her bra. She gasped softly at the brush of his fingers against the swell of her breast and reached down, fumbling for the edge of her shirt. Logan caught her hands, both of hers wrapped up in one of his, and cupped her cheek in the other.

"Veronica. There's no going back after this. You're saying you love me, period." He pretended not to notice the way her eyes flickered to the window, to the mirror opposite the bed, before landing on him again.

"I love you." Leaning in, her hands trapped between them, she darted her tongue over his lips, breasts pressing warmly, suggestively, against his chest.

Logan groaned, deep in the back of his throat, and dragged her hands to the hem of her shirt again, tugging the fabric up over her head. Her hair was mussed, face flushed, as he tossed it off the bed, ducking his head to draw his tongue over the skin left exposed by her bra. Veronica shivered, knotting one hand in his hair and running the other over his shoulders, his shirt a poor defense against the scrape of her nails though it wasn’t long before she was tugging at that as well, pulling it off him.

Sliding his hands under her, along the gentle slope of her waist, Logan unhooked her bra, only releasing one hand from her body long enough to thread his fingers through a strap and toss that off the bed as well.

They didn't need jazz to fill the space between them now, not with her gasping, back arching up to his mouth and hands, squeezing and pinching, long legs stretched out along hers. Logan felt he could have stayed there, his world narrowed to her skin for hours. Maybe days, her body soft and responsive beside him.

It wasn't until one hand strayed down, fingers questing, cupping her through her jeans, that she stiffened. He pulled away without a thought, tipping her chin up with his knuckle. “Hey. You okay?”

Veronica swallowed hard with a nod, reaching out for him again, her kiss just a little desperate and trying just a little too hard. Wrapping his hands around her shoulders, he gently pushed her away a few inches. “Veronica. Are you- Have you and he been-”

Her teeth cut into her bottom lip as she shook her head and his heart seized a little at the idea, that she hadn’t let Duncan touch her, that this was the first time she had- since-

Logan tried to keep a hold of her shoulders, if only so his hands wouldn’t clench into fists at the idea that she thought someone had hurt her, that she thought _he_ had hurt her, but she pulled away, rolling onto her side. He sighed softly, sidling up behind her, one arm wrapping under her shoulder as he dropped a kiss into the crook of her neck, his free arm resting over her waist. “We don’t have to,” he murmured, shifting slightly to avoid the tantalizing press of her nipples against his arm around her.

“I want to.” Veronica rested her fingertips against her lip, squeezing her eyes shut.

Stroking the backs of his fingers down her cheek, he gently turned her face up. “Open your eyes,” he whispered, waiting patiently as she just peeked them open to watch him from beneath light lashes. “So then we’ll go slow.”

She bit her lip but this time he had a feeling it was less in embarrassment or fear than in a nervous kind of anticipation. Nodding slightly, she started to turn in his arms but he held fast, one hand bracing over her on the dark sheets. “Logan, what-”

“Shh, just trust me.” Veronica remained tense but let him hold her there, her back to his front, until she realized how intimate it was, his body wrapped around her from head to foot. His fingers stretched beneath her breast, weighing the soft, tender skin against his hand before reaching up to tweak her nipple. Smiling into her skin at the little moan she gave, Logan sucked at her pulse point. “Tell me what you like,” he murmured, breaking away just before he would have left a mark, tongue soothing away any soreness.

She shifted uncomfortably against him and his free hand flew to steady her hip, groaning into her shoulder. “Christ, Veronica, hold still,” he all but begged and suddenly her shoulders were shaking with laughter, a grin spreading across her face.

Twisting slightly so she could look over her shoulder at him. “Nice to know I have that much power over you.”

Logan’s lips flickered into a wry grin and he laughed in spite of himself. “You’ve always had that much power over me, Veronica Mars.”

Still smiling, she leaned in to catch his lips, his arms wound around her warmly as the late afternoon sunlight streaked across her bare chest. Logan drew his fingers lightly across her stomach, coaxing a shiver out of her and making her blush. “I like that,” she breathed in a rush, skin tightening at the way his eyes darkened.

“I know.” Dipping his fingers lower, just below the waist of her jeans, lips pressing against her cheek. “You tell me if you want to stop, okay?”

Veronica nodded, wrapping a hand around his arm across her chest. “I promise,” she murmured, but her voice was breathy and she tipped her head back against his shoulder.

Toying with the simple lace edge of her panties beneath the denim, Logan let her adjust to the idea as he whispered a quiet, “When you’re ready.”

He hid a smile in her shoulder when her hands immediately flew to unbutton her jeans, his hold loosening on her just enough that she could kick them off, her suddenly bare legs tangling with his denim-clad pair. Sliding his fingers further beneath her panties as she relaxed slightly into him, lust catching up to her nerves, he stilled, lips against her ear. “Give me your hand.”

She blushed but moved one hand down beneath his, her eyes closing as his fingers slid between hers. “Show me what you do, when you’re by yourself,” he whispered and it was all she could do to fall into the familiar rhythm of her fingers stretching beneath the thin cotton of her panties, rubbing and twisting, her free hand running absently over her breast.

Logan pressed soft kisses along her jaw as he gently slipped his hand lower, fingertips dipping inside her for brief, agonizing flashes that had her wriggling against him. Moaning quietly, she peeked an eye open at him with a frown. “Stop teasing,” she insisted and he had to laugh, sliding two fingers inside her slowly.

“So demanding,” he needled, cupping his hand around her breast again, thumb flicking over a nipple. “I like it.”

Veronica clenched on his fingers, eyes slamming shut. “You would.”

Logan grew quiet, spreading his fingers inside her as she worked herself up, hand moving faster. “What do you think about when you do this alone?” he asked, squeezing her tighter at the blush that crept over her skin. “Tell me, Veronica.”

“I-I think about you, touching me,” she breathed, voice hitching, and he thought it might have been a lie but she was saying such lovely things in that sex-starved tone that he almost didn’t care. “I think about you between my legs, in the back of the car, making love to me.” She blushed so hard he had to press a reassuring kiss to her cheek.

“Is that what you want me to do, Veronica?” Logan asked, pointedly using her name again, keeping her focused on how it felt to have him there, not just in her fantasies.

She hesitated but her nod was enthusiastic as he slammed his fingers inside her, learning what made her give that tiny moan or sink her nails into his arm. “Yes. God, yes, Logan.”

Pulling his fingers out of her and reveling a little in her vocal protest, he hooked two fingers in her panties and dragged them down her thighs, letting her kick them off entirely. Veronica’s hands tightened around his forearm but she didn’t freeze up like she had before. Sliding his palm down her side, he had to close his eyes against the overwhelming realization that this was _Veronica Mars_ , stretched naked in his bed, waiting for him.

As if sensing his thoughts, Veronica whined a little, mumbling a low, _“Logan_ ,” into his arm and he kissed her shoulder, reaching between them to unbutton his jeans.

“Are you sure?” he asked carefully, hitching her hips higher against his. “We don’t have to-”

“I want to,” she insisted again, twisting to meet his eyes. “Really, Logan, I want you.”

A shiver ran down his spine and he had to pull away to shove his jeans off, suddenly unable to bear not being inside her for another minute. Bracing himself over her, he pushed her gently down, her fingers knit tight in the pillow beneath her as he brushed her hair off her neck to drop a soft kiss there. “God you’re so beautiful,” he mumbled into her skin as he gently pulled her hips against his, inching into her from behind with an aching slowness. Her hand curled into a tight fist, nails piercing into her palm and he dropped his head against her shoulder with a suppressed groan. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, does it hurt?” he asked, hand squeezing her hip tightly.

Veronica grimaced as he sunk further inside her, eyes screwed shut. “A little,” she gasped, voice muffled in the pillow

Sliding his hand up the length of her back, he traced it over her breast and down her stomach, pushing between her hips and the mattress insistently. Her face smoothed slightly at the touch of his fingers between her legs, body twisting closer to the bed, legs spreading on either side of him so she was just as tight but a little more comfortable. Logan pressed hot, open kisses down the back of her neck as he braced his arm on the bed beside her head, distracting her, soothing her, as he pushed his hips all the way against her, filling her so she cried out, fingers fisting in down and Egyptian cotton.

He stilled, just for a moment, before lifting himself over her, her tiny body dwarfed beneath him. Veronica’s gasps quieted and he felt the moment she relaxed, the moment her gasps turned to moans and she clenched on him, rolling her hips involuntarily. Smiling into her skin, he pulled away a few inches and thrust back until she was mumbling incoherently into the pillow, his arms bracing on either side of her, framing her but for her thighs spread around him, knees digging into the bed.

“Veronica,” he panted, sweat beading on his chest where he lay pressed against her, skin to skin. “Veronica, look up.” It took a few more tries before she actually bothered to lift her head but when she did, he twisted her in his arms so she gasped loudly at the change in angle as he captured her lips. Grateful, not for the first time, for their size difference, Logan easily wrapped himself around her, holding her steady as he rocked into her, her teeth grazing his lip.

She made a noise deep in the back of her throat, a desperate kind of warning, and he reached back, dragging her knee higher across the bed so he hit her at just the right spot, her back arching deliciously under him as she came, hands knotted in the sheets and the pillow.

Logan tried to pull away from her to take care of himself but she would have none of it, rolling onto her back and tugging him over her instead. “Let me,” she breathed against his lips, sliding a hand between them to wrap confidently around him. He gave a low groan, tongue pushing boldly in her mouth as it crossed his mind that she did this the same way she did everything else: feet first and with a sharp tongue, even when she was terrified.

Veronica dragged her hand back and forth over him, free hand sliding around to brace herself against his shoulder. Her small hand splayed across his skin, tan from long days on the beach. He was slick between her fingers, slick from being buried inside her, and she hooked a leg over the back of his, holding him closer with a tiny moan. He’d been thinking about this since the moment she suggested the bedroom and his hips jerked, face buried in her breasts as he came with a choking sob.

She pushed her fingers through his hair, arms wrapping around him as he lay there between her thighs, clinging to her. “I want to keep you here with me, forever,” he whispered, voice muffled in her skin. “Stay with me, Veronica.”

“You know I can’t.” Admittedly, she wasn’t terribly convincing, but the way she started to pull away, search for her clothes, certainly was.

“I want you to leave him,” Logan mumbled into the sheets, arms spread across the bed, his fingers reaching out to brush her thigh or her stomach whenever she was close enough.

“We’ll talk about it.” She pulled her clothes back on, untangling her hair with her fingers before dropping a soft kiss onto his shoulder. "I have to get back before he wonders where I am."

Logan turned his head to watch her go, sighing an _I love you_ long after she was too far away to hear it.

Summer sped on, racing to the start of school, the onset of fall. They rushed alongside it, catching brief moments in his bed, on the dining room table and once in the empty lifeguard tower while Duncan waited for her in the parking lot, no doubt checking his watch every other minute and wondering where she could possibly be.

School began without incident, but the halls of Neptune High were crowded and oppressive, all of them, ( _LoganVeronicaDuncanMegWeevilWallaceMacMadisonDickBeaver_ ) and all of their secrets jostled together again after the cool distance of summer.

There were new students, new blood, and the sharks were already circling, sniffing out fresh weaknesses and whatever wounds had been foolishly left exposed past Labor Day.

The journalism class jumped at the chance to escape, even for a few hours, even though school had only been in for a few days. Most everyone crowded at the front of the bus with Gia Goodman and her excited chatter about her father and the old stadium.

But anyone who was true Neptune, old school Neptune per se, sprawled at the back in what would have been deafening silence but for the squeaking and grinding of gears on a bus that frankly had seen better days. Duncan sat two rows from the back, his arm around Veronica's shoulders as he stared moodily out the window at the passing cliffs, sheer rocks down to crashing waves. Madison and Dick occupied opposite benches, refusing to acknowledge the other, apparently in the midst of yet another break-up, with Beaver planted next to his brother. Meg was a few rows up, her back ramrod straight, hands in her lap, though from his spot at the very back, Logan could see her glaring at Duncan and Veronica's reflection in the dirty window.

He almost hadn't come on this little outing, but it was worth the hot, sticky faux-leather seats, the sweat dripping down the back of his neck and whatever that horrible smell was just for the way Veronica kept shooting him looks that were part loathsome wondering what he was up to and part lustful shifting in her seat that he knew had nothing to do with Duncan.

Abruptly, Duncan turned in his seat, staring straight at Logan with a sort of abstract dare on his face. "So Logan. What _have_ you been up to this summer?"

"Besides being accused of murder? Oh not much. Just some parties, some-" He darted a look at Veronica with a smug smirk, his arms thrown casually across the back of his seat. "-screwing around."

Her shoulders stiffened and he watched Duncan notice, watched with satisfaction at the way his jaw clenched. "Yes I _heard_ about that little incident on the bridge. What _did_ happen there, Logan?"

Someone shuffled up front and Logan caught sight of what he assumed was an academically inclined goon of Weevil's glaring at him. He rolled his eyes, slouching further back in his seat, but the kid was already on his feet, lunging for Logan. The journalism teacher shouted for everyone to remain in their seats but Logan and Mr. Jose Regular were already at each other's throats. Duncan just watched, a bemused smirk on his face, even as Dick leapt up, shoving them apart.

"Break it up!" he yelled, staring the PCHer down until he returned to his seat grumbling without the rest of the gang there to back him up.

"Jesus, you need to get laid," Dick griped, shooting a glare at Logan, beads of sweat forming on his forehead just like everyone else in the blazing hot bus. "Got anything to drink?"

Logan pulled out a water bottle filled with vodka and tossed it at him but before Dick could open it, Veronica leaned across the aisle and snatched it out of his hand. Twisting the cap off, she took a deep swig, everyone's eyes on her, especially Duncan with that worried, turned off frown that was almost enough to make Logan's stomach turn. Screwing the cap back on, Veronica chucked the bottle at Dick, his eyes wide as he caught it against his chest. "Wow, Ronnie, movin' up in the world. I'm impressed."

"That had better be water, Mr. Casablancas," the teacher's voice called warningly from the front.

Dick pasted on a candy-sweet smile, enough to make just about everyone scoff in disgust, throwing the bottle back at Logan hard so it knocked him in the stomach. "It's Logan's."

Logan glared, petulantly stuffing the bottle in Madison's bag and earning himself a thumbs up from Dick. The back of the bus returned to an unsteady silence as everyone settled back into their respective secrets.

The field trip was generally dull, Mr. Goodman was reasonably nice and yet everyone knew it couldn't last, not with the way Duncan spent most of the afternoon glaring at Logan over Veronica's head. Even bubbly Gia Goodman seemed a little subdued, apparently having picked up on the tension surrounding Neptune's wealthiest and most popular.

Most of the class was still inside, finishing up their refreshments and getting Terence Cook's autograph, as Logan leaned against the bus, arms crossed over his chest and dark sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He watched as Duncan loomed over Veronica in a dark, shadowy patch of shade and wondered if that's what they looked like together, her body small and unmatched next to his, like he was too much for her. The truth was probably the opposite: Veronica had always been a little too much for him.

Duncan's hand closed around her arm and she tried unsuccessfully to yank it away from him. If he thought about it, Duncan would probably never actually hurt her but, then, what had happened at Shelley Pomeroy's party was enough to make him suspicious of that fact. By the time he realized what he was doing, Logan had pushed himself off the bus and was stalking across the parking lot towards them, hands balled into fists at his sides.

Grabbing at Duncan's shoulder, he jerked him away from her as he fought back the urge to land his fist squarely on his jaw. "What the hell-"

Losing hold of his admittedly weak restraint, Logan punched him in the face. He couldn't help the satisfied smirk that tugged at his lips as Duncan stumbled backwards, though it quickly faded when Veronica rushed to his side. "You really want to know what I was up to all summer? Are you sure you can handle it, _Duncan?_ " he demanded.

"Logan, no-" Veronica's hand clenched on Duncan's arm, her eyes welling up with tears he knew she wouldn't let herself cry in front of the quickly gathering crowd of students.

"I really don't care, actually, because its not going to continue. Summer's _over,_ " Duncan shot back, rubbing his jaw as he shrugged Veronica off.

"She doesn't love you." Logan's voice was dangerously low and steady, his body thrumming with the anticipation of a fight, even a verbal one. Her face flushed, and he realized if everyone watching hadn't known what the argument was about, they certainly did now, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care.

"You're kidding yourself if you think she loves you," Duncan laughed, eyebrows shooting up.

Veronica stepped between them, throwing her hands up. " _She_ can speak for herself!"

"Then tell him, Veronica, please," Logan pleaded, reaching out for her but she stepped just out of his reach.

"Tell him what, Logan? What could I possibly tell him that you haven't already told everyone?" she demanded, but her words had lost their edge, unshed tears overwhelming her voice.

"Tell him you don't love him," Logan murmured, stepping into her space and taking her hand. "Tell them all you love _me._ "

Veronica squeezed her eyes shut, lips pursed. "I love you too," she whispered. "But I can't say I don't love him. Don't make me do that, Logan."

"You _don't_ love him." Logan cupped her cheek in his hand, catching her lips for the briefest, most painful moment before she pulled away entirely.

"That's not true. I'm sorry, but its just not." She stood next to Duncan and his oldest friend looked so smug, he nearly punched his lights out again, just for the hell of it.

Dick strode over, stepping into the middle of their drama, and slinging his arm around Logan's shoulders. "Come on, man, we'll call a car. That damn bus is like 300 degrees and it smells like something died," he announced loudly, just as the teacher finally emerged, chatting and laughing with Mr. Goodman, Terence Cook lingering behind them with his hands stuffed uncomfortably in his pockets. A lot of things could be said of Dick Casablancas but he certainly had impeccable timing.

"Good idea, Dick," Duncan nodded his agreement, arm wrapping tightly around her shoulders, her face suddenly tired and drawn in a way Logan didn't recognize. She had always been fire and spunk and a stinging insult but there she stood with her hand on Duncan's chest, smiling thinly, complacently. "We'll all call a car." The look he gave him was unclear but for once in his life, Logan didn't take the implied dare.

Pushing his sunglasses further up his nose, he folded his arms and shrugged Dick off him. "I think I'll stay with the bus."

"Aw, come on, man, it stinks in there. We'll get a nice, cool ride, maybe make a few _detours_ along the way, you know what I mean? None of this vodka in water bottles nonsense." Dick nudged his arm suggestively but Logan only shook his head.

"I'm good, Dick. I'll see you later." He turned on his heel and marched off in the direction of the bus, climbing on board and flopping into a seat at the front before any of them could stop him.

Slowly, everyone else filed aboard and then the bus was pulling out onto the road, leaving Dick, Beaver, Duncan, Veronica and a few tagalongs standing in the shade outside the stadium, waiting for their car.

The bus rattled and wheezed and the students around him chattered with an astonishing ability to be cheerful while Logan sat there, staring out the window, and hoping she was lying. He couldn’t imagine why but she had to have lied. She didn’t love Duncan. She’d never loved Duncan. It wasn’t supposed to be _about_ Duncan.

Logan pulled his phone from his back pocket, flipping through the contacts until he landed on Veronica, her name barely fitting across the screen. He willed it to ring but it remained traitorously silent.

Sitting across from him, Meg looked about as sick as he felt. The driver looked bored to death and sick of carting rich, smartass kids all over creation. The teacher was checking something on her phone, something that made her jaw clench, and he had to wonder about the looks Terence Cook had been giving her.

His phone rang in his hand and he flipped it open quickly, embarrassingly eager, but it wasn’t Veronica, just Dick. Logan sighed, answering it. “What’s up, man?”

“Just checkin’ on you. You looked a little beat down back there. I’m coming over there later with beer and some _ladies_ , you hear me?” There was noise in the background on Dick’s end and he had to shut his eyes against the idea of Duncan and Veronica enjoying themselves in the back of some stretch limo.

“I’m fine,” he said dryly, biting at the words.

“We still on for waves tomorrow morning? It’s been a week; I’m ready to ditch class.”

Logan thought about saying no, that if Veronica didn’t want him his life was over but he didn’t want to sound melodramatic. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re still on.”

“Awesome, man. I’ll catch you at school,” Dick said but there was a bang from somewhere behind him and Logan went quiet, phone still pressed to his ear as the bus careened off the edge of the cliff. “Logan?”

“I got to go, Dick,” Logan murmured as kids screamed around him, the water rushing up to meet them. The phone slipped out of his hand and he heard the sound of rocks ripping open the metal sides of the bus as they plunged beneath the surface. He wondered what she’d do, whether she’d cry for him. He thought for a moment that there were tears on his cheeks but it was just salt water rushing over his head.

They say drowning is a terrible way to go but Logan just let the air out of his lungs and grabbed a hold of the seat in front of him, daring the cold Pacific to take its best shot. No heroics here, no trying to find the emergency exit. This _was_ his emergency exit.

He was gone before the black car pulled to a stop at the edge of the cliff, the people he once loved pouring out onto the road and staring down in horror at the decimated yellow bus. It seemed an appropriate way to die, as though the universe were simply finishing what he had started that night so many months before on the Coronado Bridge.

He would never know, but she did cry for him. After avoiding the funeral, after spending two weeks in Napa with Duncan, after sneaking sips of her mother’s abandoned stash of bottles, she cried for him in the quiet solitude of her bedroom, stifling the sound in a pillow.

He would never know, but then, neither would anyone else.

 

_02\. Mike & Velda_

Logan slapped the file she’d requested across her chest with a huff, glaring down at her from where he stood at the end of the desk. “I am _not_ your secretary.”

Veronica brought a hand up to her cheek in mock surprise. “You’re not? But you sit out here at a desk and answer the phones and don’t do any work and look,” she paused to lift something off the desk, “you even have a little sign that says ‘reception!’ Isn’t that like a step _below_ a secretary?”

“I only answer your phones because I am _here,_ making sure no one _kills_ you.” He opened his mouth to further school her on the definition of a secretary when the front door creaked open. They both turned to look at the blonde peeking around the doorframe, lips pressed together as she rapped her knuckles lightly against the wood.

“Mr. Mars?” she inquired hesitantly, eyes wide.

Logan stepped back, tossing his hands up. “ _Ms._ Mars. Please, take her off my hands.” Throwing himself into the desk chair, he snapped open a nudie magazine that was definitely not on her approved list of office reading materials and lifted his feet onto the desk.

Tipping her head to the side, Veronica cleared her throat and motioned at his magazine. “You’re upside down. But, then, as I recall, you like that sorta thing.” Slapping on a smile, she motioned to the blonde. “Please, come into my office. I’m Veronica Mars.”

The blonde glanced between them, apparently unaccustomed to the loosely regarded professionalism of a private detective office in the right part of the wrong side of the tracks. Holding herself stiffly, she followed Veronica into the office, the door closing behind her with a rattle. Logan huffed, burying his nose in the magazine but keeping an ear open to their conversation anyway.

“Have a seat, Miss…?” Veronica tucked her skirt under her as she sat down.

“Wendall. Alyssa Wendall.” She knit her hands in her lap without quite meeting Veronica’s eyes, shoulders curled in over her body.

“Miss Wendall. What can I do for you?”

“It’s my boyfriend, Ms. Mars. He-I think he’s missing,” Alyssa murmured, glancing down at her hands in her lap.

“All right, when was the last time you spoke to him?”

“Two days ago. I knew he was missing this morning but the police wouldn’t talk to me. Please, he’s in trouble and you’ve got to find him, Ms. Mars,” Alyssa pleaded, pulling a photograph out of her bag and clutching it in both hands.

“I’m going to do everything I can, I promise,” Veronica gestured with her pen to the picture. “Is this him?” Alyssa nodded, holding it out and Veronica inspected the man carefully: light hair, long face, tiny scar in his left eyebrow. “I need you to tell me everything you can about him, okay?”

Alyssa nodded, lips pursed. “Yes, of course. His name is Warren Turner and he’s an accountant for Liam Fitzpatrick.”

Veronica’s head shot up from her pad of paper. “Your boyfriend works for the Fitzpatricks?”

“Mhmm, that’s right. They’re a big local family, I guess?”

Picking up on the girl’s faint drawl, Veronica scratched at her forehead. “Let me guess: you’re new in town? Is your boyfriend new as well?”

“No, he’s lived here for years. We just met a few weeks ago when I moved town,” Alyssa murmured with a blush. “I know it sounds crazy but I love him, I really do.”

Veronica sighed, pulling a red vine out of a bowl on the edge of her desk and munching on it. “Look, Miss Wendall. I’d be happy to take your case: work is work. But you’ve got to understand that Liam Fitzpatrick is a bad guy and if your boy’s doing his books… it’s likely he found something he wasn’t supposed to. Would you like one?” She held the bowl out, eyebrow raised.

Alyssa shook her head, waving a hand ‘no.’ “Well, I’m afraid I know that now. That’s why I think Warren’s in trouble, see. Mr. Fitzpatrick came to Warren’s apartment three days ago and Warren just seemed so nervous. He sent me away, down to the store. I was rather upset with him, actually, but when I got back, Mr. Fitzpatrick was gone and the place was turned upside down. Warren wouldn’t tell me anything but then yesterday morning, he wasn’t answering his phone. I haven’t seen or heard from him since.” She fussed with her bag, knotting the leather in her hands. “I just _know_ something terrible’s happened to him.”

Veronica tapped her pen against her lips. “All right, Miss Wendall. I’ll find your boyfriend for you. But to deal with the Fitzpatricks, my fee goes up. $350 a day, plus expenses, can you make that?”

Alyssa nodded, diving into her purse for an envelope obviously fat with cash. “Please, Ms. Mars. I’ll pay anything. Just find Warren.”

“Well, I think you’ll be very pleased with the service here at Mars Investigations, Miss Wendall,” Veronica said with a smile, standing and putting out her hand.

Shaking her hand across the desk, Alyssa gripped her purse strap with the other. “Thank you, oh _thank_ you.”

Veronica showed her out, hip resting on the door as she closed it behind Alyssa. “ _Well_. I assume you were listening at the door?”

Logan still sat with his feet resting on the desk, magazine open (right side up), as though he hadn’t moved a muscle since she had walked into the office with Miss Wendall but he knew she knew better.

“Sounds dangerous,” he said dryly without looking up from a girl in a sailor outfit.

“Danger pays well, don’t you know?” Veronica grinned, sauntering across the office to perch on the edge of the desk and pulling his magazine down with a finger.

“Are you _flirting_ with me, Ms. Mars? Why I never.” Logan yanked the magazine away from her, flipping the page.

Veronica scoffed, pushing herself off the desk and walking back into her office. Kicking the door mostly closed so he could see clearly through the few inches it stood ajar, she reached into a desk drawer for a fresh change of clothes and set about unzipping her skirt, letting it fall to the ground with a rustle. “I don’t know how you can be so absorbed in that fluff when you’ve got a real woman right in front of you.”

Logan glanced up over the edge of the magazine, watching as she stripped off her blouse and traded it for a black fitted suit he knew she thought made her look professional. “What are you talking about?” he shot back, eyes raking over her curves. “I read it for the articles.”

Nudging the door open with her foot, she leaned in the doorway with her compact held open in front of her face as she rubbed on bright red lipstick. Pressing her lips together, she snapped the compact shut and perched her hand on her hip. “I assume you’re coming with?”

“You assume correct. You don’t think I’m about to let you walk into a den of Fitzpatricks alone again, do you?” Logan snapped his magazine shut, tossing it on the desk as he reached into a drawer for his holster and gun. Threading his arms through it, he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair.

Veronica eyed his getup with pursed lips and a raised eyebrow. “You ought to put that thing away before you hurt somebody.”

“Girls are always saying that to me.” Logan sidestepped her, yanking the door open and motioning her out. “Coming, dear?”

She rolled her eyes, snatching her bag off the chair and swaying past him. “With a little help, I’d love to, though I can do it myself if I must,” she tossed over her shoulder with a wicked grin.

The River Styx always looked semi-deserted from the outside even though they both knew Liam Fitzpatrick and his cronies were never far from its doors. “I want it firmly established I think this is a bad idea,” Logan muttered, shrugging his jacket on over his holster despite the insufferable heat but Veronica was already out of the car, heels clicking on the asphalt. He cursed under his breath, slamming the door as he hurried after her.

“What exactly is the plan?” Logan hissed, catching up to her, fingers grazing her arm. “March in there and demand to know where they buried the latest body?”

“Plan? Who needs a plan?” Veronica shot back, smiling at him with those wide innocent eyes he found himself cursing regularly.

He grabbed her arm, shaking his head. “ _No._ If you haven’t got a plan, we’re doing this my way.”

“I’m sorry, when did I promote you from desk jockey?”  She gasped in mock-horror, gripping his shirt in one hand. “Oh my god, how drunk was I last night?”

Logan wrapped his free arm tightly around her waist, drawing her up against him. “Oh we both know you can’t control yourself around me when you’re _sober_ ,” he quipped with a grin, lips ghosting half an inch over hers.

She smirked, surging up to kiss him hard, tongue teasing his bottom lip for a few seconds before she shimmied out of his grip. “Come on, meathead, I need you to point a gun.” She winked, sending a jolt straight through him as she walked away with that little unaffected sway he found so tantalizing.

Following close on her heels, he palmed his gun with a cursory glance around the outside of the building. If you had told him three years ago, that he’d be Veronica Mars’ back-up on seemingly-suicidal confrontations at the River Styx and the PCH, he’d have laughed in your face.

They busted in as if shaking down heavily armed gangsters in dive bars was a regular occurrence. (He tried not to pay too close attention to these things but was 3 times in a month a regular occurrence?)

Veronica stood just behind him, hand on her hip as she demanded answers about the current missing weasel, Warren Turner. He didn’t really hear any of it, the blood rushing in his ears as he pointed his gun like he knew how to use the thing. Nailing a paper target standing still in a shooting range was one thing, but the Fitzpatricks were another altogether. They always seemed to buy it though, despite the fact that his left hand twitched a little whenever any of them got too close. Something about a gun waving in people’s faces made them jumpy and less observant, he supposed.

The thrill of the gun in his hand only made him hyper-aware of her, though, the way her suit flared at her hip and was cut half an inch lower than dictated by professional standards. Not to mention, of course, the way she stood a foot shorter than everyone in the room but commanded the attention of some of the most dangerous people in Neptune. She said something about him, something about “you’ve got five seconds to start talking or Logan here’s going to start taking out kneecaps” and he watched her count down to three on her fingers before Liam cracked a pool stick over the bar and gave in.

Later, as she sat next to him at an endless stream of red lights with her hand pushed casually in his unbuttoned jeans, seemingly aware that he had listened to nothing but where he was supposed to shoot, she filled him in on the details. Liam Fitzpatrick wasn’t exactly an excellent character reference but he didn’t seem to think too highly of Warren Turner, claiming that Turner had stolen his mother’s wedding ring and he had only gone to the apartment to get it back. It wasn’t exactly the most believable story until he had given her a photo of his mother wearing the ring and tried to hire her to find it. She assured him she had no intentions of taking the case, despite the stack of bills she chose to ignore every day in the mailbox.

Logan would have been lying if he said he completely comprehended the facts of the case the second time either, what with her hand wrapped around him, thumb coaxing him to some kind of blissful hell.

He tried not to address the blurry line between work and sex they had established over the few months he had been squatting at the front desk of Mars Investigations. Her last few brushes with the afterlife, not to mention Gorya, had pushed him to take extreme action and although she had shouted at him, called him paranoid and delusional, no one could say Logan Echolls wasn’t persistent.

He answered phone calls, yes, and read office inappropriate magazines in front of clients. But he wasn’t kidding when he said he wasn’t her secretary; no, this wasn’t an office romance and he would never be a ‘desk jockey’. If Veronica wasn’t willing to let him _hire_ a bodyguard, he would just have to fill the job himself and if that meant a little sexual harassment, you certainly wouldn’t find him complaining.

Logan returned to himself with a groan, fingers fisting in the fabric of her slacks, not entirely sure how he got back to the office but finding them parked outside at any rate. “I’m gonna drive right off the road one of these days,” he mumbled, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.

Grinning, clearly pleased with herself, Veronica tucked him back in his jeans and kissed his cheek. “I’ll expect to be repaid in full at some equally inappropriate time.”

She flounced (it wasn’t a verb she’d have appreciated but he could think of no other word for the way she walked ahead of him) into the building. Logan shook his head, vainly attempting to gather himself before following her down the dingy sidewalk, littered with ripped grocery bags and crumpled trash. By the time he stepped into the office, hand wrapped tightly around the car keys, she was just hanging up the phone, her face pinched together in thought.

“That was Vinnie. Warren Turner’s dead.”

Veronica looked up at him and he had to cringe a little at the jaded lack of emotion in her eyes. Leaning her hands heavily on the desk, she tacked on, “I guess he heard about our little shakedown from Liam and thought he’d pass the word along.”

Logan tossed the keys onto the desk, sliding a hand onto her hip and pulling her tight against him. “Guess we better call Miss Wendall,” he mumbled into the curve of her neck, large hands spanning her waist.

“There goes another paycheck,” Veronica sighed, nudging him out of the way as she sank into the desk chair and reached for the phone. “I hate missing person cases. They always seem to go this way. Think Liam took him out?”

“For his mother’s wedding ring?” Logan shrugged a shoulder, flipping the pages on his magazine where he had abandoned it on the desk. “Liam doesn’t seem the sentimental type.”

Veronica punched the numbers petulantly, toeing her shoes off under the desk as she held the phone up to her ear. “Hello Miss Wendall, this is Veronica Mars.”

Logan glanced over at her as she slouched in the chair, eyes running head to foot with a slow grin spreading across his lips. Spinning casually around the desk, he dropped to his knees in front of her, fingers moving purposefully, single-mindedly, to unbutton her slacks.

She flushed, smacking at his hands with an unconvincing glare. “I’m afraid the sheriff’s department found Mr. Turner before we did.” Logan slid two fingers beneath her slacks, bracing his free hand on the chair arm as he leaned in to nip at the edge of lace peeking out of her jacket. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this but Warren Turner was found dead this afternoon on Dog Beach,” Veronica said, voice steady even as she lifted her hips slightly at his behest, his hands sliding her slacks down. She kicked them off, hooking a leg over his shoulder challengingly.

Logan bit his lip over a laugh, fingers pressing into her thigh as he mouthed the soft, pale skin just above her knee. His free hand crested over her hip, curling beneath the cool satin and lace she wore, his knuckles grinding into her. Veronica clutched the phone to her cheek, shoving his hand further down so the backs of his fingers slipped wet and shameless, spreading her open against the cheap faux-leather. “I am so sorry, Miss Wendall. Is there anything I can do for you? I know this must be terribly difficult.”

He was almost impressed how firm she kept her voice even as her hips bucked into his hand, the tip of his finger darting in and out of her in a silent taunt. Veronica ground her teeth as his shoulders shook with laughter at her plight, yanking her closer so she all but slid off the chair into his lap.

Pulling her panties out of the way, he drew his mouth over her thigh so just his short, blunt nails scraped against her center for a moment. Veronica shuddered, glaring down at him as she clearly fought to remain consoling and apologetic over the phone. Grinning wickedly, Logan leaned in finally, tongue drawing over her wet, trembling skin as he pressed two fingers inside her slowly.

Gripping the chair arm with one hand, Veronica steeled herself visibly. “I am so sorry, Miss Wendall, but something’s just come up that needs my attention. Please, do call if you need anything.” She slammed the phone down almost before Alyssa had agreed, fingers wrapping fiercely around the back of his neck with a groan. “Jesus, Logan, don’t stop.” The order (and that’s what it was, he had no illusions) tripped out of her mouth with abandon, no regard for her dignity. For all her talk, she had given up dignity in favor of straight-shooting and orgasms a long time ago.

Logan pressed his fingers hard into her hip to hold her down, hard enough to leave faint bruises, the kind she’d inspect in the mirror later with a glass of Scotch and a wicked grin. She twisted and whined but despite her orders, this was one way he had all the power. Scissoring his fingers inside her as he sucked hard, he grinned at the dull pain of her nails leaving red crescents in the back of his neck.

Veronica whimpered, eyes slammed shut as she rocked against his mouth, thighs clenched tight over his shoulders. He watched her face as he slowly drew his fingers out and slammed them back in, watched the way she muffled a shout with her teeth in her lip as she came, shuddering, silky stockings slipping down her thighs in a kind of loose carelessness that was far sexier than necessary.

She lay sprawled in the chair for several long minutes, sucking in air as he sat there with one leg still thrown over his shoulder, fingers faintly stroking her thigh. Groaning quietly, she pushed herself off the chair and into his lap on the floor, arms winding around his neck even as he slid his hands over her warm, bare skin beneath her blazer.

Pressing her lips to his, she kissed him soft and open-mouthed and pushed him down gently so he lay flat on his back, knees bent, the top of his head just breaching the edge of the desk. Logan sucked her tongue in his mouth, felt her moan at the tangy tartness still lingering there as he cupped a hand over her ass, down her thigh.

Sweeping her tongue along his, she drained him of the taste of herself in what was probably a narcissistically needy way though he couldn’t begrudge her what he craved himself. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she straddled him, one hand moving down blindly to pop open the buttons on her jacket as he held her hips to his but they never made it any farther, not with the door banging open dramatically and the furious scramble to hide their indecent state.

Cliff opened his mouth to make what Logan could only assume would have been some witty greeting but groaned instead, shielding his eyes with a manila folder. Leaping to his feet a bit uncomfortably, jeans embarrassingly tight, Logan stuck a hand out in greeting before thinking better of it and wiping it on his pants instead. “Cliff. Good to see you,” he said, voice strained as Veronica threw her pants back on under the desk.

Pointing the folder at him, Cliff glared half-heartedly. “As a friend of her father, I am suitably outraged, young man.”

Logan flushed slightly but generally kept his composure, sparing only a glance at Veronica’s lace panties peeking over the edge of her slacks before she was buttoned up again and popping out from behind the desk. “Cliff!” She grinned as if he hadn’t just caught her half-naked with her tongue down her ex’s throat. “How is Dad? He hasn’t called in a day or two.”

“He’s managing. Prison orange doesn’t really suit him but Keith’s a capable guy.” Cliff cleared his throat, sending Logan a pointed look. “It may be against the rules for a felon to keep a gun but I have a feeling he’ll be right back to polishing his in the living room in no time. Of course, I won’t visit and keep plausible deniability. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Veronica rolled her eyes, snatching the manila folder away from him. “I take it this is the final paperwork on that Rodgers case?”

It was a poor segue, not worthy of her usual skills. Clearly choosing to therefore ignore her attempt, Cliff dropped into a chair with a conversational huff. “ _So_. I guess this means you two crazy kids are back together, huh?”

Logan glanced at her with a casual shrug. “No.”

“Not really,” she agreed, a hand ending up on her hip in the slightly defensive and confrontational posture she’d mastered squaring off with Logan for four years.

“Just sex,” Logan tossed out, lips twitching into a twisted grin. “You know how it is.”

Veronica smacked his arm and he went back to leaning in the corner, watching her banter with her father’s friend, watching her pretend he was nothing in her life but a _‘then’_ and an occasional _‘now.’_

Cliff didn’t hang around long and they didn’t even get to pick up where they left off before she was announcing her next plan to walk into death and destruction but that was just a Tuesday.

The late morning had become early afternoon, the light already changing to a sultry kind of yellow haze that drowned out the red neon MARS blazing on the window. Logan leaned against the file cabinet, one hand propped on his forehead as he thumbed through the private files of Neptune’s tawdry private lives.

He might have said he was killing time while Veronica was at the morgue but that would be much too exciting a metaphor; rather, he was merely watching as time bled out in the colored shadows stretching across the office floor. There wasn’t much he let her do alone these days, much to her incessant irritation, but the morgue seemed relatively safe (he chose to ignore the irony) and Vinnie, though not entirely competent, was certainly not the conniving, arrest-happy sheriff that Lamb had been.

A light rap on the door had him turning his head from the overtly sexual file of one Mrs. Peabody who he was fairly certain had run bake sales every other week at Neptune Junior High. Logan glanced up, finding himself almost annoyed at being taken away from the utterly gripping- no, it was a flagrant lie, he practically wept with gratitude at the interruption. “Please, come in, Miss Wendall!” he motioned eagerly before clearing his throat, consciously toning down his enthusiasm as she stepped a bit warily into the office, purse clutched in both hands in front of her.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, turning to pour her a plastic cup of water.

“I-is Ms. Mars here?” She tucked a strand of blond hair tentatively behind her ear, eyes wide and rimmed red.

Logan held the cup of water out, chest constricting slightly at the grief on her face as she took the cup, fingers just brushing his. “I’m afraid she’s stepped out to follow up a few leads on other cases,” he lied easily, not about to tell her Veronica was currently triple-checking the identity of Miss Wendall’s cold, dead boyfriend.

Her face fell but she took a sip of the cold water, eyes closing for a moment. “Could I possibly help you with something?” he offered, one hand running through his hair absently.

“I’m not really sure why I’m here,” she murmured, cheeks turning pink as she stared down into the plastic cup in her hands. “I just can’t believe he’s dead.”

Logan reached out, hand resting lightly on her arm. “I’ve lost a lot of people in my life. Believe me, I understand.”

Alyssa looked up at him with this plaintive despair written in the way her teeth grazed her lip and her eyes stung with tears. “How do you deal with it?” she asked, voice cracking like the edge of the cup as she clutched it too tightly.

He thought for a minute that he might be a sucker for pretty blondes with tragic circumstances but that would make him a cliché and Logan hated nothing more than a cliché. “You kind of don’t. You just keep breathing and drinking and falling in love until you only think about the people you’ve lost every other minute instead of on a never-ending loop in your head.”

“Falling in love, huh?” She set the cracked cup on the desk without looking away, voice turning rough and breathy with unshed tears. If he were a better man, he might not have recognized the look a woman like that gets right before they decide to seduce you. But he had never been accused of innocence or decency and all it took was one glance at the look on her face for him to beat a hasty retreat against the wall, raising a hand between them like a shield or maybe a gauntlet, mind racing with, _did he encourage this in the five seconds she’d been in the office?_

Alyssa reached out to curl her fingers in his shirt and at that point he was still slow-motion trying to protest but then her mouth was on his and she tasted like salty tears and acrid perfume and surely that was his Achilles’ heel. One arm slipped around her waist and he cupped her cheek in his hand, tongue sweeping into her mouth, swallowing her ragged little moan as her hands clutched at his shirt.

He pushed her back slightly, lifting her onto the desk so the cracked wooden edge bit into her thighs, his hand roaming beneath the hem of her blouse over skin sticky with grief-fueled lust and 98 degree days. She was taller than Veronica but the desk still only brought her eye-level with the curve of his neck and she set about lavishing her attention there, where his pulse hitched and his blood pumped, her tongue darting along the edge of his collar. Logan’s breath caught against her cheek, eyes slammed shut as he pressed himself between her spreading legs, their silence tawdry in that way he knew Veronica liked to watch through a telephoto lens.

Her mouth found his again, piercing through the mental image of Veronica’s disapproval and arousal and buried hurt, but when she pushed her hand into his pants, that was too much. Logan gasped, hands suddenly gripping her arms as he extricated himself from her tongue. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” he panted, shaking his head, his grasp still just slightly too tight on her arms.

Alyssa lifted her hands slowly, wiping away her smudged lipstick. “No, it’s okay,” she murmured, sounding suddenly as though she had been comforting him and not the other way around. “I understand.” She pulled away from him, sliding off the desk and straightening her skirt. “Thank you for being such a gentleman.” A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth but it twisted in a way that made him think of all those people he’d lost: of Lilly, with her never-ending games and the sick satisfaction she got out of manipulating everyone around her. It made him shiver, standing there with his arms hanging at his sides, sleeves drawn down over his hands as she showed herself out.

Logan dropped his weight onto the edge of the desk as he breathed a sigh of relief, eyes closing against the wet, slick feel of betrayal.

If Veronica knew what he’d done when she got back to the office, he nearly thought she planned to keep it to herself. He should have known better. She walked in, looked him over, hung up her keys and didn’t say a word until she’d been seated at her desk for a good ten minutes, sorting out whatever files and papers she’d nicked from Vinnie. “I got to hand it to you, Echolls, you’ve got a real talent for the classics.”

He leaned in her doorway, all long limbs and careless slouch, well aware he didn’t need to prompt her to continue but raising a questioning eyebrow anyway.

Veronica gestured to him with one hand, still mostly glued to the files spread on her desk. “You have lipstick on your collar.”

Logan’s hand flew up to his neck and he leaned back, eyes darting to his reflection in the glass door. “Jealous?” he teased, but his voice strained over the word as he rubbed uselessly at the red stain on his shirt.

“Totally.” She barely glanced up from the desk, tone bored as though she couldn’t be bothered by the situation with more than a single word. “Turns out Warren Turner _is_ the dead guy, already been identified by his poor grieving mother, but he’s _not_ Miss Wendall’s squeeze. At least, he’s not the guy in the picture she gave me.” Veronica waved two photos at him, one of the supposedly missing ‘Warren Turner’ and one of the body in the morgue, clearly not the same man.

He pressed his lips together, inspecting the pictures with something approaching interest. “You think sweet Miss Alyssa Wendall isn’t all she appears to be?” Somehow, after the way she’d touched him and looked at him and so clearly wanted to use him, it really wouldn’t be much of a shock.

“Not entirely, no. But the only way to be sure is to get it from the horse’s mouth.” Veronica stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Don’t need you on this one, Mr. Tough Guy. Just going to interview a lying, scheming blonde; can’t have you getting all hot and distracted while I’m trying to get information.”

Logan tamped down a wince, hoping she didn’t find it odd when he didn’t argue for once and tugging at his collar as she made for the door. “Veronica, I-” She stopped and turned, eyebrow raised, and although he found it excessively difficult to be a good person in Neptune, damn if he wasn’t going to try. “This didn’t mean anything. The-the lipstick, I mean.”

A faint, mirthless grin pulled at her lips. “I don’t really care who you fool around with, Logan. We’re not a _couple._ ”

He cleared his throat, trying not to look as though she’d slapped him. “It was just a kiss.” Logan caught sight of his reflection again and flushed lightly. “Just some kissing,” he amended without quite meeting her eyes.

Veronica shrugged one shoulder carelessly, pulling the door open. “Kay. I’ll call you later.”

Logan stood there in the shadows, red neon light shining on his profile in the early dusk, and pretended like he wasn’t offended by her lack of offense.

\---

Alyssa Wendall (if that was her real name) lived in a small apartment in a comfortable part of town that seemed nice and welcoming to newcomers and yet was known for neighbors uninterested in asking a lot of questions. If anything, it made Veronica _more_ suspicious.

She knocked on the door confidently but had a sudden nagging that she ought to have brought Logan with her after all. For all she was usually irritated by his constantly hanging around, by the way he carried a gun like he knew how to use the thing, his presence was often a help in these confrontations. Gangsters and murderers and scheming con artists were usually fairly unimpressed by the petite blonde at their doorsteps but Logan took care of that nicely, at six foot with that damned shoulder holster bulging beneath his jacket.

The door swung open and Alyssa stood there in a plain white dress, mascara smudged around her eyes like she’d been crying for hours on end. “Oh, Ms. Mars, it’s so good of you to drop by,” she murmured, squinting out into the last haze of evening. “Please, come in.”

Veronica stepped inside with a murmured ‘thank you’, shaking off the dust of a drive through a Neptune summer and waiting just long enough for the door to close before she pulled the two pictures of the two Warren Turners from her purse. “I’m sorry to be so blunt but it’s been a long couple of years, Miss Wendall, and I don’t suffer liars easily anymore. One of these men is Warren Turner and one of them is the man you hired me to find; care to explain?”

Her face went white and for a moment, Veronica thought it might be just that easy. And then the girl opened her mouth to speak and it turned out she was smarter and cockier than she looked. “The man they found wasn’t Warren? Oh thank _god!_ ” Alyssa all but launched herself into Veronica’s arms, hugging her tightly. “Oh I’ve been just _sick_ all day!”

She went stiff, gently untangling herself from the other woman. “You misunderstand me. _This_ ,” Veronica held up the picture of Warren on the slab in the morgue, “is Warren Turner.” She gestured with the other photograph, jaw clenched. “ _This_ is a small-time grifter from New Jersey named Josh Hindell. But, then, I think you already knew that, didn’t you, Miss Wendall?”

Alyssa’s tears practically evaporated and her posture loosened, shoulders slouching slightly and hip jutting out. “Oh, god, you caught me,” she groaned, voice dry as August in Neptune.

Veronica ground her teeth, pushing Alyssa backwards into the nearest chair. “So why the fake-out? Why hire me to find someone but give me the wrong name? Why send me after a dead guy?”

“I _didn’t_ send you after a dead guy,” Alyssa huffed, lifting a hand halfway before letting it drop back to her lap. “I sent you after _Josh_. Look, I’m not going to spill my guts to you. In fact, I’m about two seconds from throwing you out of here altogether so why don’t you pack up your pretty little exposé and forget you ever heard my name.”

“Nice try. I’ve got a short fuse, Miss Wendall, and this guy’s got a shorter one.” Veronica pulled her taser out of her bag, flicking the switch experimentally so it crackled in her hand.

“Are you _threatening_ me? That doesn’t seem like a very good way to get a paycheck,” Alyssa shot back, leaning forward in her seat, hands gripping the chair arms.

“Yeah, well, something tells me Phillip Marlowe rarely got paid very well either. I’m just continuing a long tradition of private dicks unable to make the rent.” She flicked the switch again, taking a menacing step closer over the once-white carpet. “Or, if this isn’t scary enough, maybe I’ll make a little phone call to a mutual friend of ours. Liam Fitzpatrick? I’m guessing you have some jewelry he wants back.”

Alyssa went pale, for real this time, and Veronica watched with satisfaction as she swallowed hard. “Okay, okay. Put that thing away. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

Veronica lowered the taser but didn’t return it to her bag, one hand resting expectantly on her hip.

Drawing a slightly shaky breath, Alyssa started at the beginning with her real accent, New Jersey this time. “Josh and I grew up together in Jersey. We ran away in high school, pulling small jobs as we moved. Before long we graduated to long cons, even art theft. Josh heard rumblings about some priceless Van Gogh surfacing with the Fitzpatricks in sunny Neptune, California and off we went.”

Veronica pulled a face at the comical idea of Liam hoarding priceless works of art but didn’t interrupt.

“The Van Gogh was just rumors but Josh got in good with the Fitzpatricks’ accountant, Warren Turner. Turned out, Liam had a whole stash of jewelry in his safe and Warren had seen them every time he opened it up to retrieve the monthly ledgers. Some of them were family heirlooms, I guess, but most were stolen so Liam wouldn’t be about to report them missing. Josh convinced Warren to steal the jewels last month, told him we’d split the take three ways, planning to double-cross him and leave town with everything.” Alyssa sighed, running her hands through her hair. “He always was too greedy for his own good. He double-crossed me too and left with the jewels. Warren disappeared at the same time so I just assumed he had taken him out and stolen his identity. That’s why I gave you his name.”

“So you’re saying Josh Hindell killed Warren Turner and skipped town with Liam Fitzpatrick’s stolen jewels.” It wasn’t a question, just Veronica working everything out aloud.

“I’m sorry I lied to you, I am, but would you have taken the word of a thief planning to double-cross a new partner? You’ve got to believe me.” Alyssa glanced at the taser again a bit nervously but it was clear she didn’t think Veronica would actually use it. She flicked her finger against the switch casually again, just to make the point, but Alyssa was wearing her down.

“All right, fine, I’ll buy it. _For now._ But don’t go thinking you’ve got me wrapped around your finger.”

Alyssa held her hands up in surrender. “On probation. Understood. Does that mean you’ll help me find Josh?”

“I will help the cops find Josh and you will pay me for my trouble. And I will decide in the time and place whether to hand you over as well. Is that clear?” Veronica demanded, moving to stand between Alyssa and the door, arms over her chest.

“Crystal.”

Veronica left with the bitter taste of having just bought a pack of nonsense, certain she trusted Alyssa even less than when she’d first shown up on her doorstep. She drove mindlessly, foot to the floor in a blatant disregard for the speed limit, not sure whether she planned to go to the hotel suite that was home to her every mistake and sin or home to the apartment that had been empty since her father was arrested for tampering with evidence, his bail too high to manage on their meager income.

The Neptune Grand appeared before her and she figured that made the decision for her. She pulled into the lot and tossed the valet her keys; the staff never could decide when Mr. Echolls and Ms. Mars were on again or off again because she showed up just as regularly, no matter what.

Veronica rode the elevator to the penthouse, chewing on her nails in thought. Thoughts of Alyssa and Warren Turner’s cold dead body and Logan and whatever floozy had left her lipstick all over his shirt.

The doors slid open and she let herself into Logan’s suite with the keycard she’d never bothered to give back, pouring herself a drink before joining him on the balcony, a cigarette dangling from his fingers and smoke pouring out of his mouth. “You smoke since when exactly? Usually you just sit around with unlit cigars like a jackass.”

“Figured I ought to pick it up since I work for a private dick now.” Logan flicked the cigarette, ashes falling to the ground in black and white and grey slow motion. “Keep up appearances and all.”

“Went to see Alyssa. Guy she actually hired us to find supposedly skipped out on her with a bunch of jewels stolen from the Fitzpatricks and offed Warren Turner. Sounds like a bunch of bullshit but what can you do?” Veronica snatched his cigarette away, taking a long drag and sighing smoke, her head tipped back and he couldn’t help himself, just dropped his mouth to her throat, tongue flat over her pulse point.

“You’ll get ‘em,” he mumbled, hands settling on her ribs as he walked her back into the glass windows, one leg pressed crudely between hers.

Veronica moaned, back arching into him as the glass of Scotch or whiskey or what-have-you dangled from her fingertips over his shoulder, cigarette balanced in mid-air in her free hand. “Who was she?” she asked roughly as he popped open the buttons on her shirt.

“You don’t want to know.” Logan kissed her hard, tongue and smoke in her mouth, sweeping over her teeth, hot and messy, but she wasn’t giving in.

“Tell me or I swear to god I’ll leave you right here, hard and wanting me,” Veronica hissed against his lips.

“You’re such a bitch,” he whispered back, hands bracing on either side of her on the glass as he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “It was sweet, lying Miss Wendall, but it was just a _kiss_ , Veronica.”

She was quiet for a beat before pressing the cigarette between her lips again. “Whatever. I told you I don’t care, I just wanted to know.” The sky above them was dark and pin-pricked with stars, only the crescent moon and a lamp inside casting light over her face as she lied like it was breathing. The day had yet to cool off, heat oppressive and tangible between them, thick so you could taste the salt of sweat and tears and ocean that always seemed to linger in the air in Neptune.

“You’re like her now, you know? All hard edges and spreading your legs so you don’t have to talk about anything,” Logan bit back, teeth sinking into her shoulder even as she brushed the cigarette against his cheek. They each stifled yelps of pain, of pleasure, and it wasn’t like she had to ask who he was talking about.

“Like you can talk.” Veronica dropped her glass onto the table and flicked the cigarette into a concrete corner to fizzle out before stripping off her shirt and the scrap of lace and wire beneath. She dropped the clothing on the ground, underfoot, a throw-down, and he matched her for every move, pulling his shirt over his head and unbuttoning his jeans with a snap that suited the smirk on his lips, in his eyes.

Tossing back a swallow of whatever expensive alcohol she’d poured in her glass, she slithered out of her pants and underwear without breaking his stare and let him lift her legs around his waist, low heels pressing into him through denim. Veronica groaned as he reached between them, working his pinky and his ring finger inside her, the rest of his hand splaying over her, large and surprisingly graceful against her tiny body.

Logan smothered her moans, tugging her bottom lip between his teeth, his free hand tracing her thigh from knee to hip, over her flat stomach, fingertips grazing a sensitive nipple as he pressed her shoulder flat against the glass. His fingers spread over the side of her neck, thumb sliding over her throat with a pressure that was at once uncomfortable and thrilling and she tipped her head back into the window with a thready gasp.

He pressed his mouth just below her jaw, tongue slicing out as he dug his thumb into her throat just that tiny bit harder. “Always knew Baby liked the pain.” Veronica slid down the window a few inches, the strain of holding herself up around his waist weighing on her as she stifled the wanton beg on the tip of her tongue, despite the fact that with his fingers moving easily inside her he was already well aware how much she really did like the pain. “Bet Katherine Hepburn never played _that_ part.”

“Baby was the leopard,” she gasped, drawing a shaky breath over the slow squeeze of his thumb and digging her hands into his shoulders.

Logan curled his fingers, blunt nails scraping inside her as he ground the hard lines of his unbuttoned jeans against her, against the back of his hand. “Of course you’d know that, Bobcat.”

Veronica wound her arms around his neck in exasperation, breathing shallowly against his mouth. “Stop screwing around. I came here for sex, not banter,” she hissed, voice turning hoarse as she reached around into his back pocket for a foil packet.

He abruptly released her throat, giving her a chance to inhale stale evening air into her lungs as she tore into the packet. Holding her up precariously with one hand, he pulled his fingers out of her with a sharp twist that made her bite her lip over a whimper, legs clutching him closer as he dragged a wet stripe across her stomach. Logan pushed his jeans just far enough so they slung low on his hips and tried not to grin when she moaned, lashes fluttering in anticipation.

Reaching between them blindly, she let him wrap a hand around hers as she smoothed the latex over his skin. Logan leaned forward, just barely pressing inside her as he angled her thigh higher on his hip but she clawed impatiently at the back of his neck with chipped red nails, mouth hot and open on his.

“ _Now,_ Logan,” she gasped and he had to wonder how she could still speak with her tongue so far in his mouth.

The words were barely out before he was driving into her, bare chest flush with hers and damp with sweat in the humid night.

“You were saying?” he grunted, fingers clamped on her thigh, inches below the bruise he’d left there earlier, as he tipped her chin up with one hand lightly on her throat again.

Veronica moaned low in the back of her throat, blond hair sticking to her cheeks and her hands clambering at his shoulders as he shoved her hard against the window, hard enough that it rattled beneath their weight. Neptune was quiet far below them, but for the honking of cars and the low hum of ruined lives. The second-hand taste of smoke on her tongue was just the right complement to her body so slick and tight and he thought for a moment she might be the death of him, right then and there. He could just see the headlines: _Local Girl Detective Claims Another Victim Between Her Thighs._

Harsh, maybe, but they weren’t a couple anyway.

Just sex.

He didn’t have to be _nice._ Hell, he wasn’t nice when they _were_ a couple.

Veronica’s voice cut off his thoughts, kisses short and breathless, and he knew she was close by the way she chattered. “Oh, god, Logan,” she moaned, tongue darting over his lips, “ _Yes,_ Christ, I think we have, oh god, more sex now than, _oh_ , than when we were together.”

Her chest heaved and he had to brace a hand against the window to keep from losing his grip on her, ducking his head to scrape his teeth across the tender skin stretched over her jaw. “We’re just lending a little atmosphere to the office. Tawdry’s the name of the game, Nancy Drew.”

She clenched on him, shoulders shaking with laughter as her legs tightened around his waist and he grit his teeth, hips jerking involuntarily. “God, al- _most-”_ Her breath caught in her throat and he bit her lip, tasted copper, felt her come with her nails in his scalp and her heels in the backs of his thighs and he thought maybe, just maybe, he liked the pain as much as she did.

Logan dropped his forehead into the crook of her neck, letting her drag him over with her, hands trembling against the glass. “Christ, Veronica.” His lips felt dry and parched against her throat, breath shallow, as he slowly let her slip to the floor, wiping drops of blood from her lips with the back of her hand. She swallowed a moan as denim scraped against her thighs, his hands dragging along her curves and up over her shoulders, thumbs bracing against her jaw as he kissed her.

“Mmm, thanks for the drink,” she mumbled against his lips with a saucy, tired grin. “Went down smooth.”

“You’re easy, what can I say?” Logan grabbed a napkin off the side table to clean himself up, pulling his jeans over his hips but leaving them unbuttoned and snatching the open pack of cigarettes from his back pocket.

Veronica ignored the dig, the sort he’d been flinging at her since Neptune High, and pulled on her clothes slow and easy. Sliding her slacks back on, she turned to buttoning her shirt over bare skin, his eyes glued to her. Slapping her underthings into his hand, she leaned up to kiss him, fingers curled against his chest. “You keep those, darling.”

Placing a cigarette between his lips without lighting it, Logan lifted the bundle of satin and lace and cotton to his nose and took a deep breath. “Mmm, my favorite perfume, however did you guess?”

“See you at the office.” Veronica stepped back with a tiny wave. “Don’t be late for work, doll.”

Logan flipped his lighter on, holding the flame to the cigarette. “See ya.” He was still distracted by the scent of her as she slipped out, the door clicking shut with a metallic hiss.

Veronica rode the elevator to the ground floor, not particularly caring that the doorman was going to be able to see through her nearly sheer shirt now that she’d left her bra in the penthouse, not after the ride Logan had just given her. She stepped off into the lobby, sliding dark sunglasses on, one accessory in fashion in Neptune whether day or night.

The doorman gave her a twice-over but not before three businessmen and a has-been actor had done the same thing in the lobby. She gave her name to the valet and leaned there in the porte cochere, a hand on her hip as she waited, the breeze ruffling her hair around her face.

Her evening probably would have ended with a shot of whiskey and a water bed without turndown service in her tiny apartment but her phone chimed. Pulling it from her back pocket, Veronica flicked her thumb over the screen. _Meet me at Dog Beach. I’m not done with you yet._

Logan. Of course. She chuckled under her breath, taking the keys from the valet without hardly looking up. Shooting back a quick text, ( _First one there gets to be on top_ ), she pulled out of the Grand with a smile on her face.

She should have known better than to be happy in Neptune.

Dog Beach was deserted after midnight, the sliver of a moon shining down on white sand and Veronica as she kicked off her heels and dipped her toes in the surf. Waves crashed on the beach and she stretched her arms out, listening for the sound of a car breaking the peaceful silence.

In the space of a few heartbeats, she could suddenly see yellow out of the corner of her eye, the yellow Xterra barreling along the sand. Logan had always been a lead foot driver but it crossed her mind that he didn’t seem to be slowing down.

The car was only fifteen feet away before she realized it wasn’t going to stop at all and though the tinted windows hid the driver, she could guess it wasn’t Logan. It took her only a few seconds to register the instinct to run and she spun on her heel, feeling the weight of the humid night like she was swimming through quicksand.

She thought to scream for help but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway; no one was there to hear her but the fish and a woman passed out on a bench fifty yards down the beach. Between the two options, the fish were the more likely to rush to her aid. Her foot caught on a ragged piece of seaweed and she tripped, holding up a hand in the harsh white of headlights bearing down on top of her.

There was nothing to be done; no one to help, no gun, no taser, no opportunity for a witty _goodbye world._

The car ripped through her, tearing her ribcage just as easily as her sheer shirt and sending her flying into the sand, left her battered and bleeding, bones jutting out jaggedly, and never even slowed down.

Surfers found her at the first light of dawn, her blue eyes wide open and her insides hanging out, with sand clinging to her cheeks and blood matted in her hair.

Police matched the yellow flecks of paint on the body to Logan’s car, parked in the hotel garage like it had never left despite the blood and brain matter on the hood and his phone on the seat with a text to Veronica, telling her to meet him at Dog Beach.

Logan was awoken by the incessant banging of cops and media at his door. He answered it in black boxers, rubbing a hand through unkempt hair, not entirely recovered from Veronica’s visit the night before, only to have photographs of her brutalized body shoved into his hands. He was given just enough time to throw on wrinkled clothing before he was dragged down to the station without time or capacity to process the idea that she was dead, dead, dead.

Miss Wendall was standing at the counter, tearfully collecting the box of Warren Turner’s effects when Vinnie marched him into the sheriff’s department.

He lunged at her, hands drawn into fists with tears pouring unchecked down his face, before Sachs held him off. “This was _you._ It was you all along, wasn’t it? _You_ killed Turner for the jewels and then you ran her down like a goddamned animal!”

Nobody suspects the grieving blonde who reported her dead boyfriend missing in the first place, let alone sticks around to collect his things from the morgue.

She only offered him her condolences, a phony tear in her eye, and left town.

Later, he insisted he hadn’t even realized his phone was missing until after she left the penthouse, sometime right around midnight. Anyone could have taken it, even Alyssa, he claimed, until he was hoarse and blue in the face with handcuffs biting into his wrists.

Cliff did his best with Logan’s story about Alyssa Wendall, the femme fatale who set him up for the perfect murder of his ex-girlfriend and the Fitzpatricks’ accountant, all so she could escape to Mexico with stolen jewels worth millions. But it even sounded like a B movie to Logan’s ears.

Besides, the prosecution had an anonymous source that had provided convenient grainy photographs of Veronica Mars dancing with a man who was apparently Warren Turner at a club as well as proof of Logan Echolls’ violent, jealous tendencies. They spun a yarn about him catching his girlfriend cheating on him with some low-life in a bar and murdering them both.

Nobody seemed to care that they weren’t actually a couple, though that was one lie even Logan couldn’t quite swallow.

The community of Neptune gave a collective sigh of relief, as though this was the proof that they’d been right all along: he was his father’s son after all.

A harsh glare of sunshine hung over Veronica’s funeral, though almost all of the people she loved were either in prison or already rotting in the ground.

He hated that his last memory of her was his face buried obscenely in the underwear she’d left behind.

Metal bars clanged shut.

Then again, that memory might be all that would get him through the long nights in prison.

Alyssa Wendall laughed all the way to Mexico.

 

_03\. Othello & Desdemona_

Veronica sat straight up in bed, gasping in the dark room as she shook her head to clear it, instinctively taking in everything around her: Logan curled beneath expensive sheets, the line of light beneath the bedroom door, the weighty knowledge of an unregistered gun in the nightstand. The dream-memory of Madison Sinclair perched over him came flooding back to her and she shoved the covers off, running for the bathroom, her stomach churning. Closing the door behind her as silently as she could to keep from waking Logan, or worse, Dick, she flipped the lights on low so she could just barely see herself in the mirror.

Tears stung her eyes and for the first time since Madison had announced in the middle of a lingerie store that she had ‘hooked up with Logan over the holidays,’ she let the tears fall. Sinking down to the floor, she leaned back against the cabinets with her head in her hands, cheeks wet and shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Logically, she understood that they had been broken up at the time, that Logan had just been lonely and Madison happened to be there. Intellectually, she understood that he hadn’t meant to hurt her by it, had simply reached out for someone, anyone. And yet every time she closed her eyes all she could see was Madison in that skimpy little piece from the lingerie shop straddling Logan as if she belonged there.

She kept picturing all the things they’d done together, all the ways he’d made her come and filthy things he’d said. It wasn’t that difficult to imagine, considering she spent most nights in his bed, but she had the nagging suspicion that he had done things with Madison he wouldn’t dare suggest with her. After all, she was his darling girlfriend, who deserved flowers and candles and whispered _I love yous_.

Veronica slammed her fist into the tile, choking on a sob. She hated it, hated that he had so much power over her.

He groaned and when she looked up, eyes bleary with tears, he was leaning in the doorway, running a hand over his face, hair sticking up. “What’s wrong?” he asked, voice low and rough with sleep.

“Nothing.” She pressed her lips together determinedly. “Go back to bed.”

“Yeah. Right.” Logan sank down onto the floor beside her, arms resting on his knees. “Talk to me.”

“No.”

“Yes.” He leaned in, cupping a hand around her cheek. “You can’t just keep bottling everything up, honey. You’re going to explode one of these days.”

“So what?”

“So I love you and I don’t want you to explode,” Logan clarified slowly, leaning his shoulder against hers. “Talk to me, please.”

They sat there in the dark, the drip drip drip of the shower echoing between them. Finally, she sniffled, wiping at her eyes. “I just want to trust you.”

“Have I done something untrustworthy lately?”

“I don’t know.” She turned her head to look at him, eyes squinting in the dim overhead light. “Have you?”

“Most certainly. But, then, that’s what you signed up for,” he gently reminded her. “I’m never going to be the nice, safe guy but I swear to you, I will never intentionally hurt you. You know that.”

“So because I expect it, it’s okay?” It wasn’t fair, that wasn’t what he meant, but she couldn’t seem to help it. “Look, I just don’t want to talk. Go back to bed, Logan.”

He hesitated before sighing softly, lips brushing her cheek. “I love you.”

Veronica didn’t answer, just wrapped her arms around her knees, turning her face away.

She woke up with her cheek pressed to the tile floor and a blanket draped over her, face tight with dried tears. Logan was gone, his textbooks missing from the table, and she shuffled out to the living room with the blanket tugged around her shoulders. Eyes lighting on the bags stuffed under the table, the bag from the lingerie store stuffed inside a grocery bag so he wouldn’t see it, that is, she groaned and flung herself onto the couch beside Dick. “How can you play video games at eight o’clock in the morning?”

He passed her a bottle of something dubious and alcoholic without looking away from the screen. “Hair of the dog, my friend.”

“I don’t have a hangover,” Veronica snapped, tossing the bottle onto the coffee table.

“Well you sure look like hell, Ronnie. Just because you already got your man doesn’t mean you shouldn’t work to keep him,” Dick sing-songed right back, punching a button and killing some kind of troll on the screen.

And wasn’t that just ironic? That was exactly why she had gone to the lingerie shop in the first place, _to work harder to please her man._ Veronica laughed out loud, a harsh, flat noise that faded into the sound of electronic swords and lasers.

“If you’re going to be a girl, go cry elsewhere.”

She just sat there, hands loose in her lap, and _laughed._

Veronica found herself outside the lingerie store that afternoon, receipt in one hand and the bag of slightly tacky lace and satin in the other. She sat on the bench across the street for at least an hour, staring at the posters of pouty women in the window with their barely covered breasts and pink lip gloss, everything she wasn’t. She even crossed the street at one point, standing in front of the window like an insecure post in the middle of the sidewalk so passing strangers had to step around her, though she really didn’t notice anything but the repeating reel of Madison and Logan in her head.

At quarter to three she tore up the receipt, tossed it in the nearest garbage can and marched back to her car, lingerie bag still clutched tight in one hand. She flung herself into the car, tossing the bag onto the passenger’s seat, and, in spite of her pride, slammed her hands against the steering wheel, the horn blaring across the parking lot. Dropping her head onto the wheel, she felt hot tears prick at the corners of her eyes, reaching blindly into her purse for her phone.

Punching in Logan’s speed dial, she held the phone to her ear. His voice was hushed when he answered, probably slouching at the back of a lecture hall, but she could hear his smile even through the phone. "Hey gorgeous," he drawled and that old familiar shiver ran over her arms.

She wasn't sure what to say to him, or if she even really had anything to say in the first place, so she just sat there with her knuckles white on the steering wheel and her eyes slammed shut.

Her silence didn't seem to bother him; he only muffled his voice behind a textbook and asked what she was wearing. Veronica flushed, sneaking a sideways glance at the lingerie bag.

Logan sighed very softly in her ear and she could hear the shuffle of him slipping out of class. The background noise quieted and she could just picture him leaning in the empty hallway, one hand in his pocket. "What did I do? _Please,_ talk to me, honey."

It took him a few heartbeats longer than it probably should have to give up on her and wasn't that just poetic? There she was brooding and plotting, wondering what it would feel like to hurt him like he’d hurt her and he was willing to sit silently on the phone, just in case she decided to speak. "I've got to get back to class," he murmured finally. "I love you, Veronica."

She sat there on the line, sun beating down on her left arm, long after he had hung up. _So why does it feel like you did this on purpose, hurt me in the ways only you ever could? Don’t you understand what it feels like to have your heart ripped out?_ So many things she could have said. But she only tossed the phone on the passenger seat and drove back to the Grand in resignation, idly pondering what it would mean to ‘get back’ at Logan. Kissing Piz, maybe, or calling in the paparazzi for a tearfully public break-up. Or something more final, more permanent. Veronica flashed to the gun in Logan’s nightstand before gritting her teeth and turning the radio up too loud to drown out her thoughts. 

Dick had finally left for class or, more likely, the Pi Sig house, when she stepped off the elevator but the evidence of him was still ever-present: half-eaten bags of chips on the couch, discarded video game controllers on the coffee table and rows of bottles in various states of abandonment.

She stood in the doorway, shoulders slumped slightly as she took in the general disaster that was Dick and Logan’s suite. Closing the door behind her, she grabbed a bottle of something off the table in the entry and sipped at it, pulling a face.

Veronica lifted the lingerie bag up, narrowing her eyes at it. “What am I afraid of? I’m not exactly a blushing virgin,” she told herself out loud, although her chest constricted at the idea of letting Logan touch her after he’d slept with Madison. Clenching her jaw, her hand tightened murderously on the bottle, the image of them together searing across her mind again.

She took another swallow and slammed the bottle down on the table harder than necessary before marching into the bedroom, bag swinging from one hand. Reaching into the bag, she pulled out the slinky lace piece Madison had told her not to bother buying and held it up to the mirror.  “Time to quit with the silent treatment,” she murmured to her reflection.

Veronica must have laid on the bed for an hour or more, toying with the short hem of her new lingerie and eyeing the blue headboard while she waited for Logan to come home. Finally she heard a key in the lock and she sat up on her elbows, sucking in a deep breath of courage. “Logan?”

“Hey darlin’. Where’s my pot roast and martini?” he demanded with a grin, swinging the door open before stopping stock still at the sight of her leaning in the bedroom doorway in little more than a scrap of lace with satin bows, his grin fading into something darker. Clearing his throat, Logan slowly closed the door behind him, hand tight on the knob. “Well. This is unexpected.”

“I got you something,” Veronica said with a sly smirk that didn’t even touch her eyes though he didn’t seem to notice. “What do you think?”

“I think you look stunning,” Logan murmured, moving slowly to place his hands on her hips.

“Yeah? Even though it’s a one-piece?”

His brows knit in confusion and she leaned up, catching his lips in hers, hands pressed to his cheeks. “Go wait for me on the bed,” she whispered and he pulled away with a groan.

His voice hitched, jumping an octave as he backed into the bedroom. “ _Hurry_.”

Veronica moved to the bar, pouring a finger of Scotch into Logan’s glass from the night before and tossing it back. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and turned to walk into the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her. Logan was already stripping off his shirt, shoes kicked off by the door, as he sat on the edge of the bed, eyes raking over her. “God, you look amazing,” he smiled, hands skimming her body as soon as she was close enough. “Where’s this coming from?”

Ducking her head, she pressed her lips to his partly for courage and partly to avoid answering. Logan moaned softly, one hand following her slight curves, lips parting as he tugged her down onto the bed beside him. Winding one arm around his neck, her tongue slipped in his mouth smoothly, still tense in his arms.

“You are beautiful, so goddamn beautiful,” he whispered, sliding his arms around her and rolling onto his back, pulling her over him.

Veronica’s fingers tightened on his neck, in the covers, and she planted her knees on either side of him. “Tell me again,” she begged, voice rough and low, halting.

Pulling back just far enough to meet her eyes, Logan knotted his hands in the thin lace draped over her. “You’re beautiful, Veronica Mars.”

She ran her hands over his bare chest and down to the waistband of his pants, tongue darting across his lips again. “And this? What do you think of your present?” she asked, the words sharp and deceptively seductive as she unbuttoned his pants and pushed them slowly down his hips.

Logan kicked them off, fingers sliding beneath the transparent negligee, up her stomach and brushing the undersides of her breasts, breath catching in his throat. “I think you’re the best girlfriend ever, is what I think. How did I get so lucky?”

The irony was almost too much and she had to bite her lip to keep from collapsing into hysterical laughter. Or maybe hysterical tears. Rolling her hips against his and drawing a groan from him, Veronica reached down with one hand to slide out of the satin panties and toss them off the bed. His hands wrapped firmly around her thighs and she wasted no time sinking onto him, mouth slanted over his. Logan hissed against her lips, drawing his tongue slowly over hers as she settled in wordlessly, hands fisted in the comforter.

He finally noticed through his blurry arousal that her earlier misery had yet to dissipate and pushed his fingers into her hair, bracing his feet flat on the bed and kissing her deeply. The bedroom was quiet, quieter than usual, as she rocked her hips against his, the headboard casting that familiar, eerie glow of blue neon over them. Logan met her eyes once, briefly, and she felt him shiver before looking quickly away, his face divided into blue light and blue shadow. His hand tightened on her thigh and he closed his eyes, pushing up on one elbow to kiss her.

She felt when he was close, when the muscles in his thighs tensed and his heart raced under her palm. Drawing her lips and fingers teasingly over his heart, she clenched on him, nails biting into his arm and he came with her name stammering off his lips. “Oh, god, yes, V-Ver- _onica_.”

On a normal evening, he would have rolled her beneath him, brought her off with his fingers and his tongue and made love to her until she had to run home and pretend she was still Keith Mars’ innocent little girl. Logan seemed to sense, though, that this was not a normal evening because he only collapsed back against the pillows as she sat up, putting distance between them even with him still inside her. She leaned back against his legs, biting her lip as she stared off into the headboard, fingers barely resting on his chest.

Veronica could feel his eyes on her for long, drawn-out minutes, his skin rapidly cooling beneath her. “I need to ask you a question,” she said finally, voice soft and low, her eyes still glued to the blue light above his head.

“You can ask me anything,” Logan murmured, fingers stroking lightly over her thighs.

Looking down, her lips pressed together, hair falling in her face, she straightened with tense shoulders. “I need you to be honest, Logan. I need to know the truth.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t lie to you.” That in itself was something of a lie; Logan had never quite learned how to be completely honest with her, with himself, with anyone.

“Did you sleep with Madison Sinclair?”

Logan blanched and that was really all the answer she needed. Scrambling off him, eyes stinging, she practically ran to the window, consciously suppressing the urge to empty her stomach.

“Oh my god, Veronica, I’m so sorry.” She snuck a glance at him, bending to wrestle his pants on as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Shit. I never meant to hurt you. I never- She was just _there._ I never thought she’d _tell_ you.”

“And that would make it okay? If I just never _found out?_ ” Veronica threw back at him, her silent misery suddenly giving way to a flare of rage in her chest.

“No, god no, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t want you to hear it from _her_ ,” he clarified, dropping his head into his hands.

“Then why didn’t you tell me? Why did you keep it such a secret, Logan?” she demanded, hand clenched into a fist, her fingernails piercing the delicate skin of her palm.

“Because I knew you’d react like this! I knew you couldn’t handle it, that you’d flip out and start tracing my cell phone again! Because you’re _paranoid!_ ” he shouted back and somehow neither of them quite felt the shift from tearful accusations to knockdown confrontation but it was there, in the boiling point of her blood, in the angry set to his jaw.

“It’s not paranoia when it’s true,” she said, voice dangerously steady as she stepped towards him, lace still clinging to her body.

“Yeah, well, you’ve always had a hard time telling the difference between the two, now haven’t you, Veronica?” Logan snapped. “I seem to remember you accusing me of murder once too.”

“Don’t you bring her into this. You always do that; the second things get dicey, you hide behind Lilly’s goddamn petticoats. She’s _gone_ , Logan, and you don’t get to bring her up every time you think I’m not as _understanding_ as she would have been. Or have you forgotten that she dumped you after you stuck your tongue down Yolanda’s throat?”

Logan stood, one hand closing around her arm, but she shoved him away, and there it was, the thought she’d suppressed for three days, just a few inches away. Flinging open the nightstand drawer, she snatched up the gun Big Dick had given him so many months ago. He released her instantly, throwing his hands up. “Woah, woah, settle down, Veronica. Put the gun down.”

Her jaw clenched and she shook her head fiercely. “No, no maybe this is the answer,” she shot back, hot tears clinging to the corners of her eyes. “Maybe Lilly’s got it right.”

“You think she wanted to die?” Logan asked quietly, eyes never leaving her face.

“I think she wanted to die young and pretty, all the drama she could muster. And now no one will ever forget her.” Her voice shook but her hands didn’t, the gun trained evenly on him.

“No one will ever forget you either, Veronica. You’ve touched so many people. Please, don’t do this.”

“How could you do this to me?” she demanded, pressing her lips together. “Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is _Madison Sinclair_ all over you.”

“I am so sorry. Really, I am. You know I never want to hurt you.”

“Yeah, you just want to ‘protect’ me. Well guess what, Logan? You _failed_. I’m hurt and even you can’t pick me up this time, not after everything. Maybe this... this is what we both need.”

Logan winced, reaching one hand out slowly. “Please, honey, give me the gun. You don’t want to do this.”

“You don’t know how wrong you are,” she whispered. Her finger pressed down on the trigger and maybe he was resigned to the idea, having accepted his own mortality years earlier on the railing of the Coronado Bridge, or maybe he simply didn’t think she would really do it, but either way he wasn’t fast enough. The bullet tore through him at close range, ripping his chest open and knocking him backwards onto the bed, the blast ringing in her ears.

She watched red seep slowly onto his skin, dripping onto the rumpled bedspread, the gun still held firmly in both hands as he stared at her with glassy eyes.

“How did I never see this in you?” he asked, voice thick with blood and tears.

“Maybe you just never loved me enough.” It was outrageous, really, considering how much more he loved her than she had ever loved him. But it seemed a fitting thing to say and she had always been good at playing a part so she said it anyway.

Hurt mingled with the pain and self-loathing on his face as he lay there, hands shaking. “I love you, even now. What does that say?”

“That you have a taste for emotionally unavailable women.”

The poets have always had it wrong. Your life doesn’t flash before your eyes when you think you’re about to die, Veronica knew that from experience. But it turned out it does flash before you when you watch someone else die, someone you love, someone who’s life you’ve taken. You see them laughing, feel the ghost of their kiss, smell the last traces of their cologne. She swallowed hard, moving slowly to his side, her knee resting against the edge of the bed.

“Why?” She could see the effort it took for him just to manage that one word and she decided it was kinder not to answer. Ducking her head, she pressed her lips softly to his, his hand gripping her arm weakly as she tasted copper on her tongue.

His grasp slackened and she breathed a sigh of something like relief, pulling away, the gun still dangling from her hand as he lay there on the bed with his eyes half-closed. Lifting herself off the bed, she padded barefoot into the living room to pour herself a drink. The glass rested lightly against her lips, gun hanging at her side as she stared out the window over the rather godforsaken town of Neptune.

That was where she stood when Dick wandered in. He made some cutting remark about her lingerie but then she turned, watched him take in the gun in her hand and the blood-soaked lace sticking to her skin. Dick stilled, glancing through the open bedroom door. His face changed to something she hadn’t even seen when he found out Cassidy had swan-dived off the roof of the Grand, something horrified and like he just might be sick.

She laughed that _she_ could put such a look on _Dick Casablancas’_ face.

Dick was in the bedroom for a long time but she didn’t really notice, just returned to staring out the window, though she could hear his panicked, frantic voice telling Logan to wake the hell up and _shit, jesus, I think he’s dead_ , along with the reedy sound of a 911 operator on speakerphone.

When he finally emerged, his shirt and hands stained with Logan’s blood, she met his eyes with a blank, glassy stare.

“What have you done?” he demanded and she thought she heard tears in his voice. Such an odd sound coming from Dick.

“He slept with Madison,” she murmured, sipping at her glass. “I had to do something.”

“So you _shot_ him? Christ, Veronica, he’s dead, do you understand that? This isn’t just you jerking him around anymore. You _killed_ him!” Dick took several steps towards her but she waved the gun noncommittally and he stopped where he was.

Veronica set her glass down on the counter, turning to face him as she lifted the gun to rest loosely against her collarbone. “You called the cops.”

“Yeah, well, you just murdered my best friend. It seemed the logical thing to do,” Dick countered wearily, holding a hand out with dark circles under his eyes that for once had little to do with alcohol. “Give me the gun.”

She shook her head, tapping the cold, heavy metal against her skin. “I can’t go to jail. I’ve sent so many people there, like they deserve it, but me? I wouldn’t last a day.” She smiled like she knew something he didn’t and he shuddered visibly.

“Come on, you’ll get a good lawyer. Just hand it over, Ronnie.”

“I killed him. There’s no room for reasonable doubt.” There was the dull thud of footsteps in the hall and she lifted the gun higher, pressing it against her temple, black and dull silver a stark contrast against messy, blond hair.

“Don’t do this,” he pleaded. “Don’t do this to your dad. I _know_ what this will do to him. Don’t be like Beaver.”

For the first time since she’d pulled the gun from the drawer, she felt tears slip over her cheeks. “I really did love him. Tell them I loved him, Dick. Will you do that for me?”

“No, I won’t tell them anything because you’re going to man up and tell a jury everything that happened yourself,” he shot back but her eyes were already darting to the door as it banged opened, two deputies she recognized and three she didn’t spilling into the room with guns drawn.

“Maybe we’ll be together,” she whispered, glancing through the haze of shouts and chaos to Logan’s body, just visible on the bed through the open doors.

The gun went off in her hand and blood splattered across the window, across the white carpet, before the gun tumbled to the floor. Veronica went slack, her eyes wide in shock even though she’d pulled the trigger, and she saw the edge of the counter, the balcony railing outside, Dick’s tortured face all vanish above her as she hit the floor, body bouncing with the impact.

Her last thought was that she hadn’t really been ready to die. She wondered if Logan had thought the same thing.

 

_04\. Bonnie & Clyde_

Businessmen in Chicago are a hardened breed that don’t normally take notice of tiny women with light brown hair and modest heels, not unless they know she’s worth the effort of a second glance. And yet, something about this one in particular made more than a few stutter briefly into their cell phones and imagine in passing what it would be like to push her up against one of the looming marble pillars outside the city bank, feel her legs wrap around them, the tug of her fingers and the yearn of her kiss.

Veronica rolled her eyes with a sparkling smile that said she knew exactly what each of them was thinking as she strolled by. If these businessmen had paid closer attention, she thought, they might have noticed the man (her man) in the sharp tan suit loitering by the window, hands clenched into fists at his sides and an aggressive set to his jaw as he stared each of them down in turn. But few people are that observant and they all walked right past, unaware of the crime in progress let alone the crime of passion these two always teetered on the brink of.

Afternoon sunlight streamed in through clerestory windows, dappling across desks and faces and imaginary bags of money as she walked into the bank, blending in with the mass of people. She waited patiently in line, toying with a two-week-old manicure and the slim purse tucked under her arm until it was her turn to walk up to a bored teller, the one she had discreetly waited for, the one whose picture was paper-clipped to a manila envelope in the car waiting out front.

“Good afternoon. How can I help you?” the woman asked, smiling in a way that didn’t reach anywhere near her eyes.

“I’d like to withdraw some money. Do you see that man over there by the window, in the tan suit?” The teller raised an eyebrow, glancing up at the man in question and back down at a handsome diamond as Veronica wriggled her finger with a grin. “He knows I’m never going to marry him but he likes to buy me diamonds anyway.”

The smile remained in place but her voice dropped and a dangerous glint appeared in her eyes. “Now, you’re not going to say a word or press the silent alarm because I _will_ see you and my man may not like to hurt pretty women such as yourself but he likes to see us both in jail even less.” The teller’s eyes widened slightly and she glanced up at the man in the suit just in time to catch his rather timely stretch, jacket sliding back ever so slightly to reveal the distinctive shape of a pistol at his waist.

“But your manager, on the other hand, the one you’ve been sleeping with, Violet? Well, he won’t have any problem shooting _him_ if you don’t do exactly as I say. Do you understand me?”

The teller nodded silently, blood draining out of her face. “Y-yes.”

“All right, then, now that we understand each other. You’re going to go get your manager; the two of you are going to go into the vault and bring out however much will fit in his attaché. It should work out to nearly all of the $50k you have here but don’t worry, we’ll check.” Veronica’s eyes flickered up to the clock, the very picture of calm. “You have ten minutes.”

It only took the two (guilty-faced, lust-fueled) bank employees seven and a half minutes to fill the attaché with bands of hundred-dollar bills and slide it across the counter to her. “You’ll never get away with this,” the manager hissed. “We have security tapes. You won’t even make it out of the city.”

She smiled winningly, one hand gripping the attaché handle as she rested her elbows casually on the counter. “Your security tapes were replaced with loops two hours ago. You really ought to go digital, honey, it makes things much more difficult for people like us. Besides, you’d go down for _embezzling_ before you’d let your wife find out about _her_. After all, she’s the one with the money, right, Steve? And you have six more weeks until your tenth anniversary.” She pulled the thin briefcase down to her side and waved her fingers at them. “See you around, lovebirds.”

They watched her walk away, Violet in shock and Steve in appreciation (though, no doubt, he’d heartily deny it), and hook her arm through the man’s, attaché swinging merrily at her side. He pushed open the heavy glass door like it was nothing and stopped to kiss her on the top step, arm wrapping tightly around her waist before turning the corner and sliding easily into a black car with the emblems removed and the top rolled down.  

“You’d think it would be more difficult to rob a bank in broad daylight,” Logan murmured as he pulled out into traffic, hand sliding onto her thigh, thumb hooking beneath the hem of her skirt.

“You’d think there’d be one bank in this state without at least one set of philandering employees. We’ve run the same scheme three times this month.” She reached up with one hand to remove the carefully pinned wig and pull tightly wound blond hair down around her shoulders, the wind catching the ends and whipping them around her face.

He nodded to the briefcase at her feet, fingers sliding high enough beneath her skirt to feel the cold metal clasps of her garters, the unnecessary accessory she wore just for him (and for the private knowledge that it drove him crazy.) “Let me see it.”

“The money or what I don’t have on under this skirt?” Veronica quipped, trapping his hand between her thighs as she bent to open the briefcase, stacks of money peeking out at him. “Almost $50,000. Chump change for you, of course, but it’ll keep me in diamonds for a while.” She leaned back against him, silently thanking the universe for beater cars and bench seats as she pressed her lips to his cheek, hand sliding under his jacket and popping open the first two buttons on his shirt. Logan groaned softly at her faint touch on his throat, moving to capture her mouth with his only to be stopped by her fierce grip on his jaw. “Ah, ah, ah… Eyes on the road, lover. We wouldn’t want this glorious string of robberies to end with a fender bender, now would we?”

Veronica leaned into his side, tongue flicking out against his neck and her hand sliding down beneath his jacket until it landed on the butt of his gun, fingers caressing the metal and rubber and making him shudder in a way that was practically obscene. She had long since gotten used to the idea of him with a gun and these days, high school and broken hearts and the River Styx far behind them, nothing got her blood up faster than the scent of gunpowder and the cheap leather holster she had bought him for his birthday.  

Her hand strayed from the gun to the waistband of his pants, toying with the button there and tugging his shirt out slowly, letting the tips of her fingers brush sensitive skin as delicately as possible even as she lavished attention on his throat, lips closing over his pulse point. Logan’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, jaw clenching with restraint. A wanton gasp escaped her and she crooked one leg under her, lips pressing against his ear. “I want you, in a bed, all this cash spread out under us like fifty-thousand thread count.”

Her voice cracked, breath hot and body flushed as she pulled his belt open with one hand, dragging a nail over the hard line of his zipper. “This is everything I need in the world,” she gasped, his day-old stubble scratching her cheek.

Logan’s hand slapped around her wrist, veins taut. “What? Only diamonds and stolen cash and sex and adrenaline? Nobody ever said you were a cheap date.” His voice came out raspy with lust and tension and he squeezed, feeling a shiver run through her. “Just hold it together, bobcat. We’ll be there soon and you can do all the naughty things you want with that cash.” He darted a short glance at her, blond hair in her face and a wild kind of happiness in her eyes. “And with me.”

The motel was a half a step below the Camelot, the scene of so much of the debauchery of an earlier time when life was complicated and she wasted time with moral grey areas (and a paycheck.) Veronica knew damn well they looked a sight with her hair tangled from the wind and his shirt half untucked but they were certainly no worse off than the couple fighting across the parking lot or the hooker just off a rough afternoon, a cigarette dangling from her lips and makeup not quite covering the bruise on her right cheek.

The room was thirty bucks an hour and she felt a chill run up her spine when he slapped down three $100 bills, enough to last them until after two in the morning when they could slip into someone else’s car and be halfway to St. Louis or Columbus or maybe Cleveland before anyone knew they were gone. Odd, how watching him throw cash around now was such a thrill when it once turned her stomach to watch the frivolous way he lived off his father’s tainted fortune, just a rich boy without a clue.

The room wasn’t exactly the Ritz, or even the Grand, but if she were being honest that was part of the appeal. Her teasing in the car still hung in the air between them and he kept his hands off her only long enough to lock the door and empty the briefcase on the bed. It was a ritual, something they’d started way back in San Francisco, when they were new and clumsy at this, fresh off the mess they’d left behind in Neptune and desperate for a different life. She remembered the way he’d rubbed a bill between his fingers, seeing money as a tangible thing for the first time in his life. No more credit cards, no more ATMs, just cash and love, if either of them were being sentimental. The thrill of getting away with the cash was nothing compared to the rush she felt when he tossed her onto a bed covered in the physical evidence of their sins.

Veronica wrapped her arms around him, pushing the jacket off his shoulders frantically even as he tore the blouse over her head, fingers tangling in her hair and tugging just hard enough to make her moan, make her whimper for him. She popped open the buttons on his shirt with one hand as he unclasped the holster at his waist, dropping the gun on the nightstand without taking his eyes from hers, knowing what his nonchalance did to her by experience if not by the way her lips parted in anticipation and her hands tore at his waistband. “Jesus, Logan, drop the theatrics,” she breathed against his mouth as he drew down the zipper on her skirt as painstakingly as possible.

“I considered a drama major, you know, but thought it might be too cliché,” he teased, dropping kisses down her body and shimmying the fabric from her slim hips only to have the breath knocked from him at the sight of her stretched in garters and lace and black nylon on top of $50000 in cash.

Veronica moaned, sliding her fingers into his hair and tugging. “Don’t make me beg, jackass.”

He grinned at the idea but kicked his pants off obediently, sliding two fingers between her legs just to watch her react when he licked them clean. Logan tossed her a wink, finger popping out from between his lips as he hooked her leg over his hip, her body arching under him as he pushed inside her.

She screwed her eyes shut with a strangled gasp, fingers lacing at the back of his neck, and let him kiss her breathless, tongue in her mouth so she could taste the faintest trace of herself on him. “You make me crazy,” he whispered into her mouth, bracing himself with one hand next to her on the bed. “I’d do anything just to stay inside you forever, Veronica Mars.”

“Nah, too sticky and cumbersome. However would we rob banks?”

Logan barked a laugh, dropping his head onto her shoulder. “Ever the inappropriately timed comic.”

Stilling just long enough to flip them, _his_ back suddenly flat on the cheap bedspread with cash scattered beneath him, she tucked her legs on either side of him and tossed her hair back. “It’s a talent.” Pressing her hands flat on his chest, she moved her hips in an agonizing circle, if his grip on her thighs was anything to go by.

Veronica leaned back against his bent knees, dragging her hands down his chest, up her lithe, pale body and into her hair, her filthy moan nearly enough to finish him right there. “Let’s not ever stop,” she mumbled and he honestly couldn’t be sure if she meant the crime, the sex or the running away but he knew without a doubt he’d follow her down whichever rabbit hole she chose.

The room was sweltering and she had beads of sweat forming on her forehead and her breasts and for a moment all he cared about was pushing himself up to lick the saltwater from her skin, her arms winding around his neck as they took and took and robbed each other blind of all the love and lust and fear and adrenaline they could spare. It was a trite metaphor but neither of them knew how to give anymore, not really, not even when they loved each other so fiercely.

She came with his head buried in her breasts, his hands tight on her arms and her fingers fisted in the precious green paper on either side of them, dragging him over with her and pretending not to notice the stinging of saltwater in his eyes as he clutched her to him.

Lights were on in several of the motel rooms but thick curtains and expert tiptoeing kept them from being seen as they slipped out in the middle of the night, her hand caught tight in his and the briefcase of carefully repacked money swinging from the other. Logan always did have a vicious sense of humor and she had to roll her eyes when he pulled her into a beat-up black LeBaron at the far end of the parking lot, ducking under the dash to wire the car to a roaring start.

Veronica popped open the glovebox and retrieved the obligatory map, closing her eyes and pointing randomly. She peeked an eye open, making an appreciative nose. “Mmm, let’s go South. I want to do you on a porch swing and sip sweet tea.”

Logan curled an arm around her shoulders, dropping a kiss into her blond hair. “You got it, bobcat.”

Caution and paranoia had always been in her nature, even in this very different world of committing crime instead of stopping it which is why they never went less than six weeks between a job, carefully planning and plotting in the meantime. But Veronica was well aware she was kidding herself if she really thought they could never stop running and loving and stealing. The bank in Chicago had been a larger than usual payday and they set themselves up in a little cottage in Louisville, under the radar but comfortable and sweet with expensive bottles of champagne in the fridge just because they could afford it.

They ditched the stolen LeBaron for a sleek white Lincoln and set about casing the bank two towns over, an easy job if there ever was one. Honestly, that should have been her first clue: nothing ever comes that easy.

The car was waiting outside around the corner and Logan was leaning by the window, hands in his pockets and sunglasses clinging to the bored look on his face when she walked in, all legs and hips and a barely buttoned blouse. He watched her walk past him, eyes lingering on her far longer than necessary behind dark lenses.

The conversation at the teller’s window was brief and to the point, this time with a nervous young man having an affair with his manager, a much older woman with two step-kids and obscenely fitted pantsuits, an attraction Logan could admittedly understand all too well. Veronica gestured to him over her shoulder and he stretched at just the right moment, the motions of this dance honed to an art form. It was a dance meant for two though and he saw the end coming out of the corner of his eye as a security guard with a blue jacket and eyes too sharp for his own good moved to cut in. He had dark hair and a long stride, one hand on the gun strapped to his waist and Logan swore under his breath.

“Somehow I just can’t imagine you’ve got a permit for that thing, boy.” He nodded to the pistol hidden just beneath Logan’s coat. “You didn’t think you were gonna knock over the place, did you?”

Veronica was already turning, acutely aware of everything around her, when he barked a laugh, rubbing one hand over his jaw. “Now what would I want to do that for, Sparky? Looks like you’re the one that can’t afford a decent tailor.”

Red spread across the guard’s face, his jaw tightening as he drew his gun from its holster. “Put the gun on the floor,” he demanded, oblivious to Veronica’s heels clicking lightly across the tile floor and the gasps and shrieks of bank patrons.

“Now don’t do anything rash,” she murmured as she approached, holding her hands out cautiously. “Nobody’s robbing anyone today. Just passing through.” The argument rang false even to her own ears but if there was one thing besides surveillance Veronica Mars did better than anyone else, it was stalling men with guns.

That was the thought running through Logan’s head, that and how gorgeous she looked standing there with the afternoon sun glinting off the diamond on her finger, the one he insisted was a pre-engagement ring because one day she’d have a lobotomy and agree to marry him.

The glint shifted as she twisted toward Logan, probably to take his hand, but the guard interpreted the motion differently as her diamond ring flashed in his eyes.

Just a feather-light brush of his finger on the trigger and the gun blast tore through her heart. Logan’s thoughts stopped dead and the world went still as the shot rang in his ears. Everything was a blur except Veronica’s face, shock strewn as plainly across her features as if someone had written the word there with magic marker.

Time caught up to them and she slipped, fell, tumbling to the tiles with Logan’s arms around her and blood seeping through her blouse, onto his hands and the floor and their upended world.

Logan was dimly aware of shouting her name, of the echo of his voice and the cry that ripped through him as he clutched her to his chest. The bank grew eerily silent, though it might have just been the blood rushing in his ears drowning out everything but her. She stared at him, mouth gaping open for a moment, as if she wasn’t quite sure what had happened. It crossed his mind that she didn’t look that different than all the other times he’d broken her heart.

She lifted a trembling hand, a pained grin crossing her face even as blood mixed with the red of her lipstick, fingertips brushing the saltwater tears from his cheek. “Let’s not ever stop, darling,” she whispered.

“Shh, don’t, don’t talk,” Logan pleaded, lifting his head only to shout something desperate about calling an ambulance at the cluster of silent bystanders. “I love you, honey, I love you, I love you, I love you, don’t go.”

Her hand closed gently around his wrist, pressing a bloody kiss to his palm. She looked up at him with dry eyes and, he’d always thought she’d go out kicking but- that was it. Veronica was gone and all he could see through the tears was red, not the least of which was her blood on his skin.

When he got to his feet, reluctantly closing her eyes and leaving her on the cold floor, his fist was tight around the gun, gripping like his whole world depended on it. Logan’s eyes were hard as he rounded on the stranger responsible, swinging the pistol so furiously against the guard’s face that it ripped his cheek open before leveling the gun straight at him. “If you expect to walk out of here alive, you’ll have to shoot me too.”

The security guard only stared at him, hands shaking and sweat beading on his forehead. “Didn’t mean to shoot her, huh? First day on the job, _Sparky?_ You just _murdered_ the love of my life!” Logan shouted, voice rising so it bounced off the high ceilings along with the shot he fired into the wall behind the man. “Go on, do it! Put a bullet in me too!”

Someone screamed but he wasn’t surprised; hell, Logan wasn’t sure it hadn’t been him. He’d never believed in an afterlife but in that moment, he would have done anything to join her wherever she was. Too bad he wasn’t that lucky.

The statements given to the police later that day all agreed: the bank robber had been wracked by his accomplice’s death, had all but begged the security guard to shoot him, had threatened to kill himself only to be interrupted by the arrival of lights and sirens.

One woman reported, “It was kinda romantic, actually. I think he just couldn’t imagine living without her. I mean, I was scared to death of course, but you could see it in his eyes, how much he really loved that girl. He just came apart at the seams.”

Another kept insisting, “He just looks so _familiar._ Didn’t he look familiar to you? Maybe he’s the son of some movie star or something, just went off the deep end.”

Logan watched through the dirty windows of a police car, hands cuffed behind his back, as they wheeled a black body bag out of the bank, tears leaving hot, jagged streaks on his face. A cop got in the front seat, but Logan didn’t even flinch at the slam of the door, just kept right on staring at the last glimpse he’d ever get of Veronica Mars.

“Logan Echolls, huh? Any relation to Aaron Echolls?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, lashes sticking together. “Yeah, sure, ‘cause everyone from California’s got to be related to a movie star.”

 

_05\.  Tristan & Isolde_

October 3rd. The date was circled in red, one of the first things she did every year with a new calendar. Some might call it obsessive, or at least macabre, but for Veronica it was the one day a year when she could think about Lilly without feeling as if mourning (dwelling on) her dead best friend would draw her back into the black hole that had been the murder investigation. Sixteen years later and she would be the first to admit it was a tooth and nail fight to keep her natural-born nosiness to a relative level of charming.

But since leaving Neptune twelve years prior, October 3rd had come to have another meaning to Veronica: it was the one day a year when she lied point blank to her husband. She had never quite kicked the habit of the fib or even the little white lie but the big, complicated deceptions? Veronica had given those up the day Vinnie Van Lowe told her Duncan had asked him to get in touch. No, no that’s not true at all, but that day was important too.

She remembered it all painfully well: her father was about to lose the election (again) and it had been raining, the kind of downpour Southern California only gets on the occasion of a great tragedy, or in movies. Vinnie had been waiting for her by her car, soaked to the bone through his cheap knock-off suit and at first she thought he was there to gloat. But all he did was hand her a damp envelope from beneath his jacket, shouting over the rain, “He asked me to get in touch. Have a good time at the runner-up party.” She remembered him throwing her a kiss before walking off because that was Vinnie and he was nothing if not memorable.

Inside there had been a key and a note and when she read it, her heart had all but stopped in her chest because it couldn’t possibly be true. This chance had been lost to time and fate and a series of cruel injustices and yet-

Veronica sat outside the address on the note for at least a half an hour before working up the courage to go inside. She walked up the porch steps with a heady cocktail of emotions swirling inside her, wondering if she was resigning herself to a lifetime of normalcy and sack lunches or if love was really just supposed to be a house and a baby and no trace of epic grandeur (unless you count the kidnapping charges and the running away to Australia, of course.)

\---

Since then, there was only one day a year (October 3rd) she allowed herself to consider the idea that the former had been true, that her life was boring and normal and dull, that maybe she had made a mistake that day.

Retracing her memories, Veronica recalled what the note that had led to that mistake ( _decision_ , she thought forcefully) had said:

_Turns out the Mannings aren’t without a price. Four million dollars to drop the charges and leave us alone for good. I named her Lilly. She’s at least as big a handful as her namesake and if she’s anything like me, she’ll love you. Come by and meet her…_

Duncan had answered the door with little Lilly Kane in his arms and a smile on his face and she had fallen head over heels all over again.

\---

Early morning light tinged with the gray of October filtered through the windows as she stepped outside, checking the slim watch on her wrist and glancing anxiously up at the dormer windows through which Duncan was still fast asleep. Glancing around the yard she shared with her husband and a (Meg’s) teenage daughter, Veronica pondered how that note had led to the manicured landscaping and four bathrooms (really, what is a person to do with four bathrooms?) and soccer mom existence she called a life.

Tugging her sweater around her shoulders, she walked down the driveway in a poor imitation of nonchalance, feeling all the while like the very house was judging her for her once-yearly indiscretion. The driveway curved around a line of trees, the sort of idyllic country estate Veronica might have rolled her eyes at once, but she was grateful every year for the privacy in which the end of the drive was shrouded. Reaching the road, she leaned heavily on the mailbox, although the package she was waiting for wasn’t exactly going to arrive by postal delivery.

At 7:00 sharp, just as expected, a black sedan rolled to a stop in front of her and out stepped the courier, a bottle of vodka in one hand. “Special delivery for Mrs. Kane?” he inquired a bit hesitantly, even as she internally cringed at the name she still reserved for Celeste in her mind.

“Yes, thank you,” Veronica murmured, steeling her features to a cold detachedness she didn’t feel inside and reaching out to sign the clipboard quickly before taking the bottle.

“I was also instructed to give you this,” the boy said, handing over a crisp envelope with _‘Veronica’_ scrawled on the front. “Have a good day, ma’am.”

She was still standing there in confusion, bottle in one hand (familiar, expected) and note in the other (terrifying, mysterious) as the car pulled away, gravel crunching under the tires. This was a tradition, albeit a secret and mildly illicit one, and in twelve years of vodka bottles, not one had come with a note attached.

Sliding the note slowly into her pocket, her heart pounding at the thought of what it might contain, Veronica turned down the road, her sweater pulled close around her like armor and the bottle tucked into the crook of her arm as her mind drifted to the past like a magnet, drawn through time to her worst decisions. (If ever there was a day for wallowing in self-pity, October 3rd was it.)

A chill ran through her at the cold wind that blew her hair around her face listlessly but her thoughts were far away, on a hot July evening in Los Angeles, six months married. It was by sheer happenstance, or perhaps the malevolent manipulations of Neptune, that ever-present god with no sense of boundaries or ethics, that she had found herself on Catalina with a newly purchased ice cream cone at just the right moment to slam into none other than Logan Echolls.

“Veronica?” It was a voice she’d recognize anywhere, anytime, and yet she stood there with sticky ice cream dripping down her blouse for almost a full minute without looking up, as though she could put off the inevitable.

“Logan. What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too,” he muttered, reaching for a handful of paper napkins and offering them awkwardly.

Veronica wiped at the mint stain futilely, rather like her inept attempt to avoid an ex-lover in broad daylight. Squinting up at him in the bright sun, she sighed and crunched the paper towel in her hand. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah. Haven’t seen you since you ran off and eloped with my former best friend and his dead ex-girlfriend’s baby. Very daytime soap of you, by the way.” Logan arched an eyebrow, propping an arm against his surfboard.

She scoffed as she stripped her ruined shirt off over her head, leaving her in shorts and a bikini top. “Don’t give me that shit; I know Duncan came to you, before we left. That you, I don’t know, gave him your _blessing_ or something.” Veronica shivered slightly, his eyes on her body at once temptingly familiar and uncomfortably leering.

“Is that what he told you? Good old Duncan. No, actually, he dropped by the Grand and I told him he could marry you, screw you, dump you off a cliff and I really couldn’t care less. I told him I never loved you and that I was sorry I screwed up our friendship for the sake of a disposable blond bimbo.” Something like guilt flashed across his face but she couldn’t be sure because he only pushed himself up off the surfboard, swinging it under his arm. “Don’t worry, I’m sure the rugrat would have spit up on that shirt eventually anyway.”

She remembered standing there for longer than she should have, feeling more hurt than she should have, the sun beating down on her shoulders, until Duncan found her, Lilly’s little hand clutched in his and looking for her ice cream cone. The moment passed and she pasted a smile back on her face, lifting Lilly up to kiss her sticky face, arms tight around the little girl.

They spent the day playing happy family, the game Veronica felt stuck on level 4 in, making the same motions over and over, day after day, and expecting some kind of improvement. There was an obvious joke about the definition of insanity there but Duncan never seemed to notice and Logan wouldn’t have made such a plebeian observation even given the chance.

Their rented cottage looked out over the beach and after an hour of waiting for Duncan to fall asleep and another of perpetual insomnia, Veronica pushed the covers off, slipped her feet into sandals and padded down to the water. She stood there with arms crossed, eyes closed, the waves lapping at her feet, utter peace around her, and yet her chest still hurt. Biting her lip, she sucked in a deep breath of salt air through her nose, shoulders tense.

Hands closed around her upper arms and her first instinct was to drive an elbow into his stomach, swinging around with fists raised only to slump in defeat when she saw who it was. Logan held one hand up, the other rubbing ruefully at a growing bruise on his side as he murmured, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Veronica didn’t respond, just wrapped her arms tighter around herself and turned back to the dark sea, face blank and steely.

He sighed softly, kicking at the sand with one foot. “I’m sorry, about earlier. I didn’t mean to- You just make me crazy, you know?”

“Oh, yeah, you totally need my help for that. Go away, Logan.” Her voice was quiet and piercing in the still night, although it was only with her back turned that she managed to keep him from hearing the shakiness there as well.

“I’m serious. I’ve tried to stay away but you’ve always been under my skin.” Logan stuffed his hands in his pockets, jaw clenching.

“ _Tried_ to stay away? It’s been over a year since I saw you, Logan. You haven’t exactly been chummy lately,” Veronica huffed, mentally chastising herself for continuing to indulge him.

“Yeah… that was the deal. Duncan promised to take care of you and I promised to stay away. I know, it sounds corny and medieval but it seemed good at the time. And then you were gone and I didn’t realize how much that was going to kill me. Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I drive to your house and I sit in the dark and I think about you up there with him and it makes me ill.”

She ground her teeth together, wondering why she was more bothered by the idea of him sitting out there alone than by the fact that he was stalking her or that he and Duncan thought they could negotiate her life behind her back. “Are you confessing to stalking right now? Is this really happening, Logan Echolls admits to being the poorly-adjusted sap I always knew he was?”

Logan ran a hand through his hair, shoulders lifting as he fought the urge to hit something. “Forget it, Veronica. I just wanted to apologize for being a jackass earlier.”

Veronica chose not to give him the satisfaction of a witty retort, only turned to walk away, trying in vain to lose his interest. “I did love you, you know. You were a hard habit to break, Veronica Mars,” Logan insisted, as if he just couldn’t bring himself to let her walk away in silence, large hand closing around her wrist.

She shivered involuntarily at the touch, swallowing hard as she tried to wrench away from him. “It’s _Kane._ ”

Logan laughed humorlessly. “Right. I’m _so_ sorry, Mrs. Kane, do _forgive_ me.” Releasing her, he threw his hands up with a sneer. “Is it cliché if I say ‘have a nice life’ and really don’t mean it?”

\---

He was always like that, Veronica thought as she stopped outside the looming black gates of her final destination, trees rustling and mossy headstones greeting her with their backs silently turned. Always a cruel word on the tip of his tongue and his fists ready to connect with something solid, and yet she knew he had been honest with her that day: he had told Duncan he didn’t want her, had agreed to cut them both out of his life, but had lied through his teeth when he said he didn’t love her.

They had left Neptune right after, well, right after the day she promised never to lie to Duncan again and she would admit to getting a twisted sense of satisfaction out of the fact that she had never again set foot in the town that had robbed her of so many people and all of her innocence.

She pushed open the gate and stepped into the quiet cemetery, early morning mist hanging from the trees in an appropriately ghostly way. There was no one buried there she had ever met in life, just a field full of dead strangers, but it had always seemed appropriate to mourn Lilly in the most melodramatic way possible, drinking vodka in a lonely cemetery as the sun rose; she would have appreciated the gesture, Veronica was sure.

Veronica sank down onto a bench, unscrewing the cap on the vodka bottle with shaking hands. She took a steadying swig before pulling the note from her pocket, chest constricting with the knowledge that nothing good could come from Logan contacting her, not now. Running a finger over her name written in an unfamiliar hand, she carefully popped the envelope open and pulled out the paper inside.

_Dear Mrs. Veronica Kane,_

_We have never met and this is an unfortunate time for introductions but my name is Vivienne Echolls. After nine years of marriage, my husband, Logan, thought I was still unaware of this gift he sends you every year but when he asked me to get in touch with you, I thought this would be an appropriate way of doing so._

_There is no easy way to say this so I will be blunt: Logan is losing a battle with bone cancer and I’m afraid he won’t be with us much longer. I realize that you have not spoken with him in many years but he would greatly like to see you._

_I do not understand or wish to know the circumstances of your long silence but a woman knows when her husband loves someone as I know Logan loves you. If you still return any of his feelings, please come at once. Now is not the time for petty jealousies but for honoring the wishes of a man we both care for._

_Cordially,_

_Vivienne Echolls_

There were no words, really, for her reaction, for the way her heart seemed to turn in on itself in her chest. Veronica sat there slumped, shock thrumming through her system, the vodka bottle pressed lightly against her lips and the note dangling from her fingers. She could feel the burning dryness of her eyes, too stunned even to cry yet, and the prickling of her nerves, of her scattered might-have-beens. The idea of Logan dying was not that much of a surprise but she had always thought he would go out in style: a James Dean moment of some kind. Not _cancer._ Never something so devastatingly average.

Unbidden, her thoughts flew to the last time she had seen him, much too long ago.

\---

Logan had paid her one more fateful visit after that day in Catalina, the visit that would keep them apart for twelve years. If she were at all honest, fighting had always been foreplay for them and a psychologist would likely tell her the fact she had sat on the front porch nursing a bottle of vodka for three hours after Duncan had gone to bed was evidence that she had _waited_ for Logan to show, not simply let it happen arbitrarily.

It was after midnight when he finally pulled up to the curb, glancing up at the bedroom window before getting out of the car. “Are you waiting on this street corner just for _me?_ You’re such a harlot,” Logan sniped with faux-fondness in his voice, hiding his surprise with a snide comment as always.

“Are you skulking outside my house after midnight just for _me_? You’re such a stalker.” Veronica sipped at the bottle, bare feet stretched out on the step and her back against the railing.

Logan leaned against the railing, propping his head on a hand. “What are you doing out here, Veronica?” he asked, voice low in the quiet midnight air.

“Subconsciously waiting for you to show up so we can begin a tawdry affair and end up like all those shamed couples my dad used to catch, _obviously._ Really, Logan, you’re falling down on your game.”

“I’m serious. You love him and that kid. You shouldn’t be out here drinking in the middle of the night. That’s Veronica Mars kind of stuff; you’re Veronica Kane now, remember?”

Veronica scoffed, shaking her head. “I’m just drunk enough to ask if you really believe there’s a difference. Same girl, different name.”

Logan moved to sink onto the bottom step, dropping his head back into her lap, his fingers linking together on his chest. “You’re a liar, that hasn’t changed.”

“Good liar or bad liar?”

“Just a liar.”

Veronica dropped her free hand onto his shoulder, fingers brushing the bare skin at his throat, ignoring the way he peeked up at her, arching an eyebrow. Taking another gulp of vodka, she let her fingers stroke along the neck of his shirt. They sat in silence for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes, the press of their lives (and her fingers on his skin) heavy and thick in the dark of night. Finally, she nudged him up with her thigh, seeming to have come to a decision she didn’t want to have time to renege on. “Come on, I want to go somewhere.”

“What about-” He didn’t finish the question, only glanced at the upstairs window.

“He’ll never know. Even if he does, I’ll just say… I don’t know, he never thinks I lie to him anyway. He’s not like you, always suspicious all the time,” Veronica murmured, not unkindly, but sort of matter-of-factly as if she had spent too much time cataloging the differences between them.

“To be fair, you constantly lied to me,” Logan responded, holding the car door open for her in a comical facsimile of a gentleman.

“ _To be fair_ , you lied to me all the time too.”

He cleared his throat, climbing in beside her; admittedly there wasn’t a lot of arguing with that. “Guess we didn’t make a very good couple did we?”

Veronica tapped a nail against the glass bottle in her hand, squinting out at the dark world. “No, not really. But the sex was great.”

A harsh laugh escaped him and he quirked a cruel grin in her direction as they pulled away from the curb. “Duncan not satisfying you, darling?”

“Let’s not talk about him,” she murmured quietly, looking down as she scraped her nails over the paper label, tearing the edge.

Logan slid a bold hand onto her thigh, squeezing through the denim. “Where are we going?”

She thought for a long moment, letting him drive no where in particular, the vodka bottle resting on the seat between her legs. “The cemetery. I miss Lilly tonight.”

He pulled his hand back abruptly, grip tightening on the steering wheel but he didn't argue, just turned the corner at a red light and followed her bidding.

They sat in silence outside the cemetery for long, stretched-out minutes, the only sound that of Veronica peeling the vodka label.

"I've never understood the point of cemeteries. What are you supposed to do, _talk_ to them or something?" Logan finally asked, voice rough with honesty.

She set her jaw, squeezing his arm with one hand. "Yeah I know. Come on, let's go see her."

Veronica clambered out of the car, bottle dangling from her fingertips , the intoxicated sway of her hips beckoning him to follow. A cricket chirped off to his left and the breeze whispered across his neck and he hurried after her, not about to admit the place made his skin crawl but not wanting to be left alone lingering outside the imposing stone entrance either.

Veronica seemed to know her way to Lilly's grave rather well, even drunk and in the dark, and he didn't want to think about what that said about her. She raised the bottle, lips pressed together in a hard, bitter line. "To Lilly. I'd really like to say something poignant and witty here but I'm too drunk to think of anything and I think she'd have appreciated that, so."

Logan took the bottle from her in a practiced swipe as she flung herself down on the grass, the mossy headstone at her back. "Is this how you feel all the time, just blitzed out? You're going to die of cirrhosis of the liver or something," she mumbled, eyes drifting shut for a moment.

Logan barked a laugh, stretching out next to her on his side and throwing back a hard swallow, eyes glued to her face if only to avoid looking at the graves around them. "You don't even know what blitzed is, believe me."  

Sighing softly, she tipped her head back against the headstone, reaching one hand into the space between them as she became increasingly aware of the distance that separated them and the dewy grass prickling at her skin. “It’s not really true, actually,” she murmured suddenly. “We were a great couple, when it was just the two of us. It was everything and every _one_ else that always got in the way.” She stretched further out blindly, brushing his fingers where they rested on the cool glass of the bottle.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Kane?” Logan quipped, grasping her fingers tightly in his.

“Or maybe I was just kidding myself all those years and it was really only about the sex,” Veronica shot back dryly, peeking her eyes open at him, half-lidded and sultry without meaning to be.

He laughed quietly, lifting her fingers to his lips, at first innocently but easily sucking the tip of one finger and then the next between his teeth. She shuddered, eyes drifting closed again in a vain attempt to shut him out. “My god, you’re beautiful, Veronica. I hope he tells you that.”

“I said I don’t want to talk about him.” She tried to pull away but he held fast, flipping her hand over and kissing her wrist.

“How can we not, when you’re here with me instead of at home, in bed?” Logan’s tongue flicked against her taut skin and she was certain he could feel the hitch in her pulse.

“I’m not going to leave him for you, if that’s what you think. I love him and, more than that, I love that little girl. You and I can never work, Logan.” She relaxed slightly in his grip as he moved over her, tugging her down flat on the grass even though it brought him face to face with the thing she knew so haunted him: the stone that was all that remained of Lilly’s life. Perhaps it was cruel of her to take him there but they had never quite got the hang of being kind to one another.

She watched as Logan forced himself to look down from the carved letters of LILLY KANE to meet her eyes. “Yeah. I know. But I can’t just let it go at that; now that I’ve got you here, undivided attention and all, I can’t just let you walk away without at least putting in an effort.” His hands ran down her sides, skimming the curve of her hips.

Veronica shivered against her will, hands splayed in the grass around them, mentally blaming her responsiveness on the vodka. “I guess there’s got to be a first time for everything. Effort’s never really been your strong suit.”

“Just shut up, will you?” He ducked his head, capturing her lips fiercely with his, one hand curved at her hip as the other ran along the length of her arm, her wedding ring pressing painfully between his fingers as he held her down, nails piercing into the wet dirt.

She wrenched her hand out of his without breaking the kiss, teeth scraping along his bottom lip. “You really want the last word?” Her breath caught in her throat as he hitched her leg over his, thigh pressing between her legs. “Don’t make this about him.”

Logan drew a line of kisses across her jaw and her throat, his hands pushing up under her shirt as she wrapped her arms around him, fingers catching on his belt loops. “It’s not about him,” he agreed in whispers painted harshly across her skin, “It’s about _us_.”

Veronica arched her back into him, gasping heedlessly against his cheek as his palms scraped over her sides, fabric bunching around his hands. Knotting her fingers in his shirt, she tugged it loose from his pants, fingertips grazing his lower back even as his lips brushed at her ribs, across the sensitive skin stretched over her bones.

Logan pushed the grisly thought away as her hands moved to his belt and he caught her wrist, lifting his eyes to hers. “Are you sure?”

“We’re not in high school anymore, Logan. Of course I’m sure.” Veronica pointedly pulled open the button on his jeans, arching an eyebrow. “Are _you_ sure?”

Logan clenched his jaw as he reached under her shirt to pop open her bra, matching her challenging look. “Positive.”

Her lips twitched into an almost-smile as he ran his thumbs over the undersides of her breasts, making her shiver and pull him tighter against her with one leg. Slipping a hand into his pants, she bit her lip, fingers deftly stroking him through a thin layer of fabric, feeling the pull of his body against hers, inevitable and deadly.

Logan groaned, pulling her up roughly to pull the shirt off over her head, granting him too-long-denied access to her skin. Drawing the straps of her bra down her shoulders, he peeled the fabric away slowly, following the path with his mouth, tongue sweeping across chilled skin tasting of perfume and vodka even as she drove him to a welcome distraction from everything that was wrong with this.

Veronica moaned quietly, blades of grass slicing at her back as she pulled her hand away, earning herself a strangled gasp of protest. “Tease,” he hissed without lifting his head, hands roaming over her body as though remapping her, relearning her.

She chuckled, quickly shimmying out of the rest of her clothes and flipping him onto his back, stage-whispering a pointed, “ _Hardly,_ ” before pushing his pants just far enough out of the way and sliding onto him, lips parting in an audible gasp.

Logan’s arms wound tightly around her, one hand settling at her waist and the other pressed flat against her shoulder blade as he struggled to catch his breath. “ _Jesus_ , Veronica.”

Clutching his shoulder with one hand, nails biting through the thin fabric of his shirt, she captured his mouth with hers, tongue languid and bittersweet on his bottom lip. His hand moved down over her thigh, thumb caressing soft, white skin even as the other moved up to the back of her neck, blond hair falling in his face and over his fingers.

Slowly, he moved beneath her, the press of grass and dirt under him making it impossible to ignore Lilly’s presence. For a moment he thought he could feel her touch on his back, always too hot, burning his skin as he lay in the imagined warmth of her body, drawing every breathy moan and gasp from Veronica with the smallest movement possible.

The night turned quiet, the trees rustling restlessly around them as they moved together, absorbed in each other and the feel of blood rushing beneath warm skin. Logan rolled her onto her back again, unable to bear the feeling of Lilly behind him any longer. He braced one hand in the grass, ignoring the thought that he had everything he’d ever loved under him, as she thrust her hips up to meet his, eyes screwed shut and gasps spilling out of her lips unchecked.

Veronica moaned as he reached his free hand between them, fingers slick and messy, feeling her body flutter around him enticingly. His muscles strained and he lifted his head, panting and groaning even as Lilly’s name stared back at him from the cold, grey headstone.

“What do you think she’d make of all this?” Veronica asked, voice taut and controlled, and he looked down to find her watching him, wide blue eyes glued to his face. He only hoped the pleasure in her nerves was enough to keep her from reading his thoughts, reading how Lilly could still screw with his head let alone turn him on.

“Us rutting on her grave? She’d be pissed she has to be a passive participant,” Logan murmured, slamming his hips into her in an ungainly sort of way and coupled with the look of disapproving lust on her face, he came hard, clutching her to his chest in unbidden desperation.

A whimper escaped her at the force of it, his fingers brushing between her legs even with him still wrecked and inside her. He kissed her hard, rubbing three short, rough circles into her skin, not pretty but enough to make her come undone in his arms, shuddering and gasping, face screwed up in that way he knew so well. Veronica collapsed beneath him, spent but still mumbling into the curve of his neck, her fingers leaving bruises on his back. She had never left him unmarked after sex; although tiny, she really didn’t know her own strength.

They lay there wrapped up in each other on the grass for an indeterminable length of time, counting stars and wondering what Lilly thought, trapped in the ground beneath them. “You know, I actually meant what she’d think of our lives in general,” Veronica murmured finally, as if he truly wasn’t aware.

“I think she’d find us dull and too emotionally involved. Honestly, I don’t think we’d get along much; I loved Lilly but she was frivolous and selfish and I didn’t know it at the time but it was always you I wanted.” She looked up at him in surprise but he only brushed a kiss over her forehead. “Don’t worry. I know the rules; I love you from afar and Duncan never knows about this little indiscretion of ours.”

Veronica pulled away, skin cooling rapidly with regret and the breeze. “Don’t. Don’t say that. I don’t want you loving me from afar, Logan, I just want you to move on with your life. Lilly might have been selfish but she taught me we can’t spend our lives pining after things. We either have to make them our own or let them go and you _have_ to let me go.”

He watched as she dressed in silence, awkwardly straightening her hair. “No, right. Of course, you’re right. This will be it, our last hoorah.” Logan pushed himself up, righting his own clothes and retrieving the forgotten vodka bottle. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

They walked away without sparing Lilly’s grave a glance, an uncomfortable distance between them given their earlier intimacy. The silence clung to them all the way to the house until they stepped out of the car at ten minutes to three. Stopping at the base of the stairs, he caught her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her fingers before pulling her in close for goodbye. Veronica’s arms wrapped around him, lips parting under his bittersweetly as tears stung her eyes. “Have a nice life,” he whispered and this time he meant it, every sentimental syllable of it.

“Goodbye Logan.” Veronica started to pull away but their evening wasn’t meant to end on their terms. The porch was suddenly flooded with light and they leapt apart, only to find Duncan leaning in the open front doorway, face stern in a way that made him look like his father.

“Do you have something you want to tell me, Veronica?” he asked, a cold steel in his voice.

Logan watched as the blood drained out of her face, watched her stammer, shaking her head fiercely. “D-Duncan, baby, oh god.” Darting up the steps, she stopped stock still a few feet in front of him, wringing her hands. “No, no, we were just-”

“God, I knew you still had feelings for him but I _never_ thought…” Duncan trailed off, betrayal in his eyes as he glanced down at Logan.

“It was just this one time,” Veronica murmured, clearly abandoning the idea of arguing her innocence as she reached for him. “I love you, baby, you know that. It was just a- stupid and- I-I was drunk and-”

“Go inside, Veronica,” he said quietly, arms folded over his chest.

“No! Duncan, please, I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry. Can’t we just go to bed and forget about it? I just-” Panic clouded her voice as she tugged at his arm and it was all Logan could do not to run up the steps and gather her in his arms.

“Look, it’s never going to happen again. Don’t throw your marriage away for one mistake, man.” Logan swallowed hard, turning back towards his car. “You’re not going to see me again so just do what the lady says: go to bed and forget about it. She loves you more than you know.” So maybe it was a lie, maybe he didn’t think Veronica really loved Duncan at all, but she thought he could make her happy, that much was clear and Logan was determined that she get exactly what she wanted from then on.

The car door slammed and he drove away without giving either of them a chance to argue with him, steadfastly refusing to look back at them standing there on their porch, lights shining on every dusty secret between them.

“I’m _sorry_ , Duncan, I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are but that’s not really the point, is it? You slept with him, I can see him all over you. I’ll always love you, honey, but how can I ever trust you again?” He looked at her with distrustful hurt in his eyes and she flinched at how familiar a look it was.

She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. “Because I’m never going to lie to you again,” she murmured finally. “Starting right now, we’re turning a corner. I’m never going to keep a secret from you, ever, and I want you to hold me to it. I can’t lose you.”

It was 2:53 in the morning on a forgotten date in July and _that,_ that was the day Veronica had given up lying to Duncan.

It might have sounded like a line but she had stuck by it for twelve years, excepting October 3rd, of course, because that was the day each year that Logan had a bottle of vodka hand-delivered to her so they could mourn together, from afar.

Every October 3rd, Duncan believed she went to the spa (of all things.) It had been the first thing that popped in her mind when he had asked twelve years ago where she was going the morning of the anniversary of Lilly’s death. The first bottle had just been delivered and it was by sheer luck that Duncan had not seen. (She might have thought Logan was intentionally trying to get caught but, then, he probably trusted her lying prowess too much to worry about it.)

As soon as she had seen the bottle, she knew where she had to go and she knew she couldn’t tell Duncan. He wouldn’t understand; even though Lilly had been his sister, his blood, he had never understood the way she and Logan had loved her, let alone loved each other. Duncan didn’t have that kind of passion in him; it was made him safe and easy.

The annual vodka bottle wasn’t about getting drunk (although, admittedly, it helped.) It was about paying the toll, letting Lilly know they hadn’t forgotten about her and letting Death (or perhaps Neptune, the Sea) know he still held their respect and their fear.

And now here she found herself sitting in a cemetery, vodka trickling down her throat, with the knowledge that it wasn’t enough. Logan had paid the toll dutifully and had been richly rewarded with what seemed like nine lives. Until now, until something as stupid and banal as _cancer_ eating away at his insides. Soon, there would be one more stone to mark an unnecessary passing.

Veronica knew then what she had to do. Vivienne Echolls might have been a stranger, and a slightly loathsome stranger at that, but she was right: now was the time for honoring a dying man’s wishes.

\---

Several hundred miles away in Neptune, Logan lay alone in what he had always referred to as the ‘marriage bed’, the pile of pillows and expensive sheets he wasn’t allowed to eat on that he had shared for nine years with a kind-hearted and elegantly coiffed wife. He stared at the ceiling blankly, finding shapes in the sheetrock out of sheer boredom. Vivienne peeked around the door, makeup not quite covering the redness around her eyes. His chest ached at the sight and he cursed himself for making yet another lovely blond cry. It seemed to be his only legacy, crying blonds.

Wincing as he tried to sit up, he coughed fiercely into his hand and pretended not to notice the flecks of blood that landed there. “Is there-” he grit his teeth at the wheeze that followed, “any word from Veronica?”

Vivienne stepped into the room, one hand curled in her pocket around the note Veronica had sent ahead, her heart pounding in her chest. Any fool could see they had never stopped loving each other and she was no fool, except in her inexplicable love for him. The first day she met him she knew he would break her heart, all charm and wit and tortured soul.

It had hurt desperately when he asked her to contact Veronica so he could say goodbye but she had understood his desire to smooth his regrets and had dutifully sent the letter without argument, convinced she was above petty jealousies, as she had said. Until then, _‘Veronica’_ had always been some figment of his past, some Lenore she needn’t worry about because they would never see each other again.

Until the letter had arrived. The letter stained with tears, saying that of course she would come, that it was so unfair he should be taken in this way, that she was glad he had found someone so good and kind and wouldn’t Vivienne give him her love until she could be there herself?

Every woman has a limit and she was ashamed to admit she had just met hers, rather unexpectedly. She had crushed the letter in her hand, stuffing it in her pocket, and there she stood, debating how far she dared to go with the deception.

“No, no word, I’m sorry,” she murmured finally, before hurrying to sit on the bed beside him. “But I’m here, honey, it’s okay. I’m not going to leave you.”

Logan squeezed her hand weakly, disappointment etched into the dark circles under his eyes. “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have to go through any of this. I wish…” He didn’t finish but, then, he didn’t have to.

Vivienne shook her head, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “I love you,” she whispered, even as she felt the blackness of guilt settle on her shoulders.

In the end, she was never certain if he had simply given up hope that Veronica would come or if he would have died before she got there anyway. That was her cross to bear but Vivienne had to admit, at least to herself, that she was grateful for the last few moments of solitude with her husband.

She stood in the yard, tears drying uncomfortably on her cheeks, watching the man from the mortuary pull out of the drive as an unfamiliar car pulled in. Her heart constricted as a blond woman leaped out almost before it had stopped moving, running after the black car as though for a train she already knew she was going to miss. The man slammed on the brakes and she banged her fists against the glass of the back window. Vivienne could hear her sobs from across the yard and she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other and confront her husband’s past.

Veronica turned as she approached, her mascara smudged around her eyes and tears gushing down her face, the mortician standing off to her side awkwardly. She took a deep swallow of air, obviously trying to compose herself and thrust out a hand. “You must be Vivienne.”

Vivienne shook her hand a bit reluctantly, sizing up the other woman. “And you must be Veronica.”

She turned back to peer through the tinted glass without answering although she really couldn’t see anything. “Thank you,” she mumbled and at first Vivienne thought she misheard.

“I’m sorry?”

“Thank you,” Veronica repeated, wiping at her eyes uselessly as more tears only took their place, her voice thick, “for loving him. He always just wanted to be loved.”

Vivienne felt her eyes well up at that and she reached out, fingers almost brushing Veronica’s shoulder but not wanting to disturb her moment. After so many years, she just needed to mourn and that was certainly something she could understand. “Take all the time you need,” she murmured, turning away to walk back to the house and leaving this woman, this stranger, alone to grieve.

 

_06\. Logan & Veronica_

Veronica Mars was just as blind as anyone to the epic end of her epic love, however it might happen. She chose instead to live in the moment, arms around the man, the boy, who loved her more fiercely than anyone had ever done before. (She told him that was overly dramatic. He told her it was the truth.)

Perhaps this time it wouldn’t have to end.

Perhaps this time they could stay blind just a little while longer.

 

 

(Maybe the classics weren’t so epic to begin with. Maybe we just tell ourselves they are so average lives seem more than simply titillating.)

**Author's Note:**

> The five couples compared to Logan and Veronica throughout the fic are:
> 
> Jay Gatsby and Daisy Buchanan - The Great Gatsby (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Great_Gatsby)  
> Mike Hammer and Velda - The Mike Hammer Series (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mike_Hammer)  
> Othello and Desdemona - Shakespeare's Othello (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Othello)  
> Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow - Real life 1930s robbers (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bonnie_and_clyde)  
> Tristan and Isolde - Pre-Arthurian legend (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tristan_and_isolde)
> 
> I certainly took liberties but the stories mostly speak for themselves. The most significant changes are that the roles are reversed from the original stories with Mike and Velda (with Veronica as the detective) and Othello and Desdemona (with Veronica as the murderer) as well as the change in ending for Jay and Daisy (with Logan dying in the bus crash instead of being shot) and Mike and Velda (both of whom survived the original books.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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